On the Inside
by Antje
Summary: An indulgence of your five senses, and maybe your sixth, with some plot squeezed in.
1. Lessons From Art

**Title**: On The Inside  
**Fandom**: The Zeta Project  
**Date Started**: 28 April 2007  
**Date Finished**: 14 May 2007  
**Length**: About 36,500 words; 15 chapters  
**Rating**: Mature  
**Notes**: This is meant to be a sensuous experience tied together with a little bit of plot. It takes place, according to my fanon timeline, the last week of April 2044, about a week before  
Ro's eighteenth birthday (early May). Also, it's an ode to my favourite parts of Ohio, around areas I used to live, so beautiful during that especial time.  
**Disclaimer**: The Zeta Project is under the license of DC Comics/Time Warner. The author acknowledges the rights of the parent company and its subsidiaries. **  
Author's Note 12.2009** You know, I'm really thrilled that this story has almost 4,000 hits, and averages about 100 views a month. But, seriously, you need to lay off railing me about the "sex scene," okay? You're forgetting one very important thing: _This is FFN, people_. **EXPLICIT CONTENT IS NOT PERMITTED ON THIS WEBSITE**. Please keep this in mind while reading and reviewing. If you don't like it, well, go write your own story. In the meantime, don't complain about what I've done. I did the best I could within the perimeters I had to work with. Thank you, and have a nice day!

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_For Mims, who wanted me to write this — way back when._

**SENSUAL**, sen'shu•al, a. (L. _sensualis_, from _sensus_, sense. SENSE.) Pertaining to the body, in distinction from the spirit; carnal; fleshy; pertaining to the gratification of the appetites; grossly luxurious; indulging in lust; voluptuous; pertaining to sensualism as a philosophical doctrine.

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001 – Lessons From Art

For two years, Zee had known full well the freedom and limitations of innate curiosity. All he'd ever asked of Ro was that she teach him what it was like being human. She offered this unconditionally, easily, with a finely-tuned knowledge of what it meant to him. He'd never asked her for anything else.

What he learned from her, he tried to put to use in his daily life. But he clung tenaciously to inherent naiveté, though attempted, with some gallantry, not to let it show. With so much to know, so much to acclimate his mind to, his mannerisms, his mental adjustments, he acknowledged a robot's obsession with human nature.

The ways of life: the cycle, the symbiosis, the agonizing, twisting, tumultuous roller coaster rides of life. Every person he met, befriended, became as a storybook, a life untold, a fantasy unravelled. Every new friend expanded Zee's inquisitiveness; every new person a new experience.

It was while browsing an art gallery in Columbus, Ohio that Zee became aware of a simple flaw in his otherwise perfect plan of knowledge-gleaning.

In the midst of saving people, strangers, friends, forming allies—he'd forgotten, almost entirely, about Ro. He had acknowledged, plainly enough, over the last two years the thematic principles she'd taught him. She told him what he wanted to know, explained the black and white pillars of, to quote Voltaire, '_l'espirit et le coeur . . .' _and_ 'ce qui s'appelle mourir_'.

Yet he had not, not once, ever considered that she was a storybook unto herself. But why would she be different from a stranger, a new friend, a new ally? Surely she had hidden dreams, a story to tell. She respired as everyone else—and it'd taken him thirty months to comprehend this.

Ro lay in his conscious as an undiscovered land.

'Beautiful, isn't it?'

Zee glanced at the gallery owner, a tall woman with rich golden-brown hair and round grey-blue eyes. She adjusted the cat-eye frames against her nose, to better see the large canvas painting suspended before them.

'A Jou-Jou Matarek original. Are you familiar with his work?'

'Not in the slightest.'

This brought a warm chuckle from the owner. 'This is an early piece. Done in the nineteen-twenties. Notice that the colours are cold. Reflects a post-war era mentality.'

The colours. He didn't even notice the colours. Now he did. The hues of the sea and a distant shoreline. Greens, greys, broad strokes like waves of an ocean.

'But done before the Jazz Age came along and brightened up the world,' Zee added, thinking aloud to himself.

'Yes. Some of his work in the late-twenties expresses exactly that.'

'Did he always paint naked women?'

Another soft laugh. The gallery owner was growing fond of him, a man with innocent blue eyes that almost seemed appalled at the sight of a woman wearing nothing, lounging among rocks and stones that represented hardships and lovers lost to the Germans.

'He only painted this naked woman,' the lady informed, 'several times, in fact.'

'They were intimate.'

She appreciated the way he stated this, matter-of-factly, unhidden from the past. 'Her name was Alara. They had three children. None legitimate. All dead by the time the second war came around. She died in Rouen, France in 1951 of a broken heart.'

It seemed impossible that anyone can die of a broken heart. Ro had told him as much. But she knew so little about grief, not enough to count for a resolute conclusion of exactly what losing love can do. If given proper stimulus, Zee knew the heart capable of great motivation, severe loss, tragic concerns, and glorious reinventions. Ro had often said that she reinvented herself after every obstacle she passed. He almost believed it, in the same way he ached to believe broken hearts were legitimate causes of death across the globe.

Another patron entered the gallery, and the owner dashed away, hopeful for a purchase. Zee remained in front of Alara. Captivated, that was a word for him. He examined every brushstroke of her body, the representations of size and shape given by light and shadow, recesses and convexes. She was mesmerizing.

In the three years of his life, women were the same as everyone else; they were every second person he passed, every second person he talked to, befriended, worshipped from afar. Seen—but not really, thoroughly _seen_. That would have to change.

Ro came up beside him two minutes post-revelation. She slipped oversized sunglasses to her crown. Her big, youthful eyes landed on the portrait. Then her face squeezed together in alarm and disapprobation.

'Er . . . Been here long enough to get her phone number?'

'I—what?'

'Never mind.' She latched herself to his elbow and attempted to haul him away. 'It's a good thing you don't have the same sense of wanderlust that I do, Zee, otherwise I don't think we'd _ever_ find each other. There's a whole wide world out there, you know, and someday I think I'll lose you to it.'

'I don't think that's possible anymore, Ro.'

She smirked thinly at this as they alighted on the busy sidewalk outside the gallery. Ro donned sunglasses and hat, protecting her pale skin from the sun's harsh rays. He liked her in the hat, a bit of change from the norm. Once, he'd put on a hat, a black Panama, and a black shirt and black pants to match. Ro told him to change out of it, never wear that hologram again, because he looked like an old-time gangster. Still, it was nice to know he could toughen up his image if required. To be fair, holding up a would-be thug with one arm, so that his toes scraped against the earth, usually sufficed in the toughness department.

'Where to now?'

In the plain movement to pin the hat to her head in a rising gale, Zee caught the same awing light he'd seen in the painting, at rest against the skin of her arm, the shadows against her toned muscles, the pointy bone at her elbow. He allowed his gaze to trace the outline, from her shoulders down her back, to the bend at the waist, the slight curve of her hips, and ending at the graceful feet. She moved to look at him, and he saw a stream of sunlight cut through the buildings and trees to rest against the hairs at her neck. A glow reflected at the round line of her jaw, against her rosy lower lip.

'Zee?'

She blinked at him. He awoke from the trance.

'How about—food?' When in doubt, he suggested food. She generally agreed.

'All right. Food it is. I passed a nice Mediterranean place two blocks up. Would that smell suit you?'

'Whatever you'd like, Ro'

'Enough with the subordination already. I think you're losing your personality. You never tell me no anymore.' Nonetheless, she took hold of his elbow anew, to be sure they weren't separated. Ahead lay the rest of this small, Midwestern realm, ancient and charming, set against a lush green landscape and a romantic smear of haze on the horizon. She inhaled deeply, with the scent of newly cut grass and flowering trees. 'I'm in love with spring.'

He heard the words but said nothing. Instead, he looked intently at the shape of her fingers, splayed against his sleeve. Then, aware of this frightening new sensibility, he soaked in the angles of her profile, to the sun and city reflecting endlessly in the back of her eyes.

His next thought surprised him.

_Ro is just like a painting._

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Please review! Critique encouraged!


	2. Ballistic Fringe

002 – Ballistic Fringe

Three days were gone before our beloved renegades had heard any word about Dr Selig. And, even then, the word was not so much a word as a rumour-based sentence from Bucky.

They were at a Ground Wire outside Columbus, Ohio to receive this video message. Bucky, still in hiding through the Tech Underground, working closely with his uncle, had become part of a group he called the Ballistic Fringe. Ro thought it sounded like a bad name for an equally bad rock band. This despaired Bucky very little, as he'd grown so used to Ro's barbed quips by now.

Bucky showed up on the monitor, sleepy-eyed and tousle-haired. A large cup of coffee next to the keyboard was sipped occasionally. Ro imagined it full of strong, full-bodied brew, rather akin to what she'd order at the Ground Wire espresso bar. Difference being that Bucky was likely in a location where coffee beans could be bought fresh at the farmer's market, right there in front of him, fair trade and all. He never talked about his locations, yet unwittingly dropped hints from time to time.

'The Fringe is saying that pieces of Knossos are under examination at a military hangar somewhere in Ohio.' Bucky yawned and gave a vigorous rub to his face. 'Uh, here, I found the base's specs. You can have them.'

Ro often paused during discourses with Bucky, reflecting on how openly they discussed their feats of treason, along with distended conversations on certain domestic terrorist organisations. It beguiled that, with all the guileless talks, the NSA always remained a step behind. Ro nudged her seat forward to examine the basic blueprints.

'I don't see the entrance. How come I'm always reading these things wrong? Zee? You'd be of some use here, ex-government employee that you are.'

'Ro!' admonished Bucky. 'Keep your voice down!'

Ro threw a hand at the screen. 'Please, do you think these people are listening? I could walk in here naked and no one would notice.' She leaned into her seat and folded her arms.

'Please don't test that theory,' Zee said, eyes downcast and a forlorn shake of his head.

Bucky gave a throaty laugh. 'Please _do_ test that theory!' He got a severe, scornful regard from Zee, emoting things Bucky hadn't witnessed before. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

'Anyway, once you find the entrance, you shouldn't have any trouble getting into the hangar. I mean,' Bucky glanced at the relay camera, 'that's what you guys are experts at, right? I say you can pose as a couple of soldiers and get yourselves in and out of Area B without any trouble at all. Most of the debris are in Hangar B. Should be easy to remember: Area B, Hangar B. See the pattern? The Knossos computers reclaimed from the wreckage will be there if nothing else is. I hope that helps.'

'It does. Thank you.' Zee nodded sincere gratefulness.

'Then there shouldn't be any problems. I'll report to the Fringe what your general outcome is, so be sure you contact me whenever you've completed your infiltration. . . . _¡Dios!_ I sound like Agent Bennett! Gah! I'd better go stick my head in a toilet somewhere. Laters, you two!'

The vid-call ended before Zee or Ro uttered farewells. Ro rocked the chair back and forth, pensive.

'I have to hand it to him: That Fringe thing does come in handy sometimes.' She looked at Zee. 'Think we should go check this out? The base isn't that far from here. Only about a ninety minute drive. We can probably get there before it's really late. Get a hotel room or something.'

'Of course we should go.'

'I sense a "but" coming.'

'Not at all. I'm only calculating the risks.'

'You do that.' She stood abruptly and passed, leaving a lingering hand against his shoulder. 'I'm going to the little girl's room. Gotta get rid of some of this coffee.'

It'd become a habit of his over the last trio of days to watch Ro, either as she walked away from him, towards him, or slept at night. While it wasn't just Ro—he saw everyone, everything in a new light—it was predominately Ro. With him almost twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for the last two years, it took him all this time to _see_ her, appreciate the frangibility outside, the essence inside. Perhaps that wasn't exactly it, either. Words in general seemed too limiting. Words unjustly confined what couldn't be squeezed into weak definitions and poor idioms.

Near evening, they were in the car, driving west, with the top up from a threat of rain. One of their radio talk shows had just ended. Ro, happy with the jokes and themes of the show, tilted into the luxurious leather seat with a bottle of water. Out the corner of his eye, Zee noted the bend of her knee, the bones of the wrist against it, the dashboard glow of teal against blue denim. His eyes tightened as he forced himself to focus on the road.

'You're awfully quiet,' he said to Ro. Quietness didn't become her. Usually it foreshadowed melancholy, discomfort, PMS, any or all of the above. 'If you don't want to do this, I'm sure we can find some other way.'

'Some other way?' The question twirled with a giggle. 'Some other way to sneak into the Knossos computers and find out more about Selig? You're kidding, right? No, wait,' she waved a hand, 'I know you're not kidding because you have no sense of humour. Wow, look at me, I almost forgot.'

His hands inadvertently tightened on the steering wheel. The thought to argue came to him, but he quickly dismissed it. 'You're right. This is important.'

'The most important thing we've done since Knossos went down. It's been nine months. Nine months of guesswork and boredom. And if we were really fortunate, those days would include a few chases by the NSA. You know, don't tell anyone this or I might have to kill you, but we're damn lucky to have someone like Bucky helping us. I mean, granted, we might have found out about this on our own, but maybe not for two years or whatever. But, yeah—it is important. Someone like Selig has to have a background. A family. Someone has to care that he's dead. Wouldn't it be terrible if no one cared that you were dead?'

This talkative vein, jumping from one subject to another with ease, befit Ro Rowen. Zee glimpsed her watching out the window. He couldn't blame her, for the velvety sky was speckled with trillions of stars. He would've preferred stargazing to car watching.

'I'll care if you're dead,' he finally said. 'And I'd probably be angry at you for dying.'

For a flash, she understood why he'd said that. But the flash lasted only as long as lightning, then it vanished. 'Let's change the subject. Tell me more about how we should break into this base. We should have our felonies carefully synchronised.'

Her bare feet, newly removed from shoes, plastered against the dash. Toes wiggled. Relaxed, carefree, Ro put her arms behind her head and tilted the seat back, bottle of water at her lips. Zee failed to quit the fascination with her shapely feet. A warning tone and light on the dashboard brought him from his thoughts.

'What—?'

Ro flew upright, hand out against Zee. 'Look out!'

He finally saw it: an object lay in the road ahead of them. Fifty feet, forty, thirty— The wheel jerked the vehicle into the other lane. Ro put her face against the passenger window to see the road hazard.

'Dead deer,' she said, sitting back. 'At least I hope it was dead.' The water bottle took place in a cup holder. Ro brushed the front of her blue t-shirt. 'I spilled water all over the front of me. Thanks for all the excitement, Mr McDangerous.'

'I'm sorry about your—sorry.'

'Fragging hell, Zee, it's not the end of the world! It's just water. I have another shirt or dozen in the back.' She reached a long, thin arm into the tiny backseat and procured from the shadows a suitable shirt. She sniffed it to make sure it smelled somewhat clean. 'Think it might be one of the freshly laundered ones from our last stop. I laid all those on top, just in case you were driving.'

Zee almost slammed on the brakes when she pulled the damp shirt over her head.

'Ro!'

'What?'

'Can't you wait until we get to a rest area or—'

'Why?' She made a quick movement. He had to watch, too intrigued not to. All he saw was a glimpse of her shoulder, the strap of a bra, the white of an abdomen. 'See! Done! What's the big deal? This never bothered you before. Are you getting self-conscious on me, old man?'

He went back to watching the road. The flickering of distant heat lightning, the flickering of the white stripes on the road, viewing the other drivers go by, soothed and refreshed. Driving reigned useless vagary.

The throttle revved an additional four MPH. He wanted to get to Dayton as soon as possible. In a big hotel room. Space enough for him to be more than three feet from Ro.

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Please review! Critique encouraged!


	3. Meadowsweet

003 — Meadowsweet

Once Interstate 70 took them to State Route 68, they chose, almost at the last minute, to head south. Once out of the Springfield vicinity, they fell into a greenish dell that, for a drifting two miles, followed the muddy Mad River. But it veered away to join the Little Miami, while Sixty-eight dribbled its way between lofty, majestic trees, a wee village of a firehouse and church, into the innovative artists' colony Yellow Springs. Ro stopped in the middle of Yellow Springs, at Tom's Old Fashioned Market, for another bottled beverage, and asked the woman at the register for a nice, somewhat new hotel in the area. While there was neither new or refurbished hotels in Yellow Springs, 'there is a newly remodelled place the closer you take the road south, not far outside of our town, but before you'll get to Xenia,' said the woman. 'And you can't miss it.'

Indeed, they can't have. The hotel was small, a spread of one wing on a deliciously landscaped hunk of land about two miles south of Yellow Springs. Ro waited in the car while Zee procured a room. She listened carefully, with the window down, to a variety of birds gleefully trilling evening songs of delight and love, to the crickets harvesting themselves in the underbrush and near oversized stones. Their air smelled sweet, of grass and sedge, fen and dew, and she felt peaceful enough to sleep inside the car.

Zee came back and reclaimed the driver's seat. Ro opened an eye to observe him, the calm demeanour of a man who pretended to have no mission, no defined purpose in life.

'Remind me, Zee, never to make fun of Ohio again.'

He smirked a little. 'You have always been hard on it.'

She snuggled into the seat and looked at the puffy clouds aslope in the western sky, dimming to hues of gold and rose and peach, touched by a breath of mint green. 'Well, I turn a new leaf. And, besides, I'll _always_ hate Gotham more.'

Zee poked her in the upper arm with two keys. Ro took them, confused. She watched him pocket an additional two keys.

'What—?'

She didn't have to finish. He revved the car into the nearest parking space from beneath the porte-cochere and explained.

'The rooms are small. One for each of us this time, I thought.'

Ro's eyes shined in worry. 'But—'

'They're adjoining, with an access door between them.'

Her fingers still lightly holding the keys, she numbly moved from the vehicle. Outside, the humidity intensified the air, cloying it with the scents belonging only to a spring evening in Ohio. An unclear sense of oddity clung to her. Zee and she had almost always shared a room. It was beguiling not to, when someone could come for them in the night. To avoid a fiasco related to their plans, they had decided to take up a hotel room at least twenty miles from the Air Force base, Wright-Patterson, merely for the sake of keeping up a clean appearance. Should the NSA acquire knowledge that someone had broken into the base, and then found out Zee and Ro had been in the area, but twenty miles from it, would seem more like a very foul coincidence than proof of guilt. Ro had said, while they talked of it, that it mattered little what they did to cover their tracks anymore. Every day, come every new adventure, it seemed that they were becoming more and more like the criminals the NSA had them pegged.

Ro rubbed an eye and tried to forget about it. Zee opened the door for her. A musty wave of ventilation whammed her in the face. Her aide-de-camp turned on the light next to the bed, checked the security controls, the environmental controls, even turned the television off and on to be sure of its workability. Ro saw it was a lovely, rather feminine room, floral and bright, done in pinks, blues, whites, a touch of yellow in the carpet. She sat on the edge of the bed, catching the perfume that precedes night waft through the open door. Zee's impressive physique was a shadow against the setting sun.

'I'll get your belongings,' he said at departure.

Ro titled back on the bed and stared at the immaculate, flat-painted ceiling. Her thoughts wandered freely, and eventually her eyes closed. She wanted quietude for a moment, to think of nothing, be no one of importance, not to be Ro Rowen for an instant. In that one second, she was both everything and nothing. A child again in faraway Oregon, curled up in her attic room, half asleep, reading a book, listening to the wind slip through the pines. She turned over on her side before Zee returned, scrunched into a foetal position, her hands between her knees. He returned and found her like that, and stood in front of her, looking down. She felt him touch her shoulder with cool fingertips that slipped away, leaving a tingling trail of gooseflesh. The light of his hologram often made her realise how sufficiently solid she was, and how miraculous it was to have a friend that glowed like an unnamed constellation.

'Are you tired? It was a short drive.'

'No, not tired,' she shook her head. 'Melancholy, maybe; morose, maybe; not tired.'

He moved away and put her toiletries by the sink. He laid out the toothbrush, the hairbrush, the little tube of toothpaste, and her small clutch of cosmetics she had only to prove that, once in a while, she was more than an accomplice, and was, in point of fact, something of a young woman almost eighteen. She might have laughed at him if he declared that this was his favourite part of getting a hotel every night, laying out these things of hers. He loved the purple toothbrush with its roughed bristles. He loved the hairbrush with its golden strands between the combs. He loved the little tube of toothpaste with its middle squeezed and rankled. He loved to fold up her attire for the morning, her pyjamas for sleeping, and leave them on top of the dresser.

'I didn't know what you'd want to wear tomorrow,' he said, still before the sink, admiring the lay of the objects, the pattern of warmth they brought him. 'So I didn't bring anything in. I thought we might go to the air force base in the morning. They're having a soda delivery tomorrow. Might be easy for us to sneak in before the real soda guy gets there.'

'And I'll be the soda?'

'Cases of it, yes.'

'Can I be something lemon-lime?'

'Of course. So you'll have to dress comfortably. Also, their independent computer consultants are supposed to be there. They'll come in the morning, probably sign-in around ten. That'll give us an alibi. You might want to program your holographic emitter as a suit—something formal but not too formal. But we wouldn't be able to get through the gate as the techs. Once we're inside, we'll change.'

'I know.'

She knew. They'd been through it all three times on the drive over. Usually they went through their story-schemes at least five times. Sometimes they even acted them out, practiced dialogue, intonations, facial expressions. But this was scarier. Wright-Patterson was one of the most secretive bases in the country. Zee told her it was rumoured that pieces of UFO's that'd crashed throughout the states had been brought to Hangar B for inspection. Many of those pieces still rested there, hidden below ground in rows and rows of archival shelves.

Ro didn't necessarily believe him. She wasn't sure what monstrous things the government had shoved into his nanowafers. They could've told him mendacities by the heap and he would believe it. Worse than that: he'd _have to_ believe it. Still, it would be _fun_ to believe.

And, anyway, it didn't matter, as they were heading into the back of Hangar B, which, according to the blueprints, was a bunch of little hangars, perhaps rooms, out of one big one. The computers that were once inside Knossos were in that area. Hooked up. Repaired, in some cases. Ready for Zee's connection and the downloading of what they hoped was invaluable information.

His dark grey trousers appeared in front of her again. The violet-blue of his coat, like wild berries in moonlight, had a silvery, unctuous gloss, a touch of deposed reality. It delighted her, as a sign of his uniqueness. People sensed this about Zee, staring at him as though there was just a small, invisible something about him that was slightly off; he possessed a great power that he hadn't yet tapped into. Whatever that power was, whether it was the starlight in his being, the warm inner core of him, or a vibration of his metal gears and screws, he never would know how to use it to his best advantage. Power, wherever it comes from, easily corrupts the one who wields it. And Zee was incorruptible. Therefore, power would never wholly be his.

Zee tilted at the waist and angled his head so it paralleled Ro's. He searched her eyes while she searched his. The hotel lamp did little to illuminate the blue, but it touched her hair and brought her skin to life. As she lay, perhaps he was most fascinated by the left shoulder, exposed from a cap-sleeved t-shirt, that little hallow next to meeting bones and joints. He wanted to touch it, see what it was like to have tendons and skin and blood under it all. But he'd feel nothing, only solid form, nothing of texture or knowledge of flesh. Her skin did not tell a story, nor did her shape, her hands, her nose. What told stories, he decided, were the things on the inside that he would never see. He would never really _know_ her—a disappointing thought.

'I have an idea,' he started, falling to his knees in front of her. 'We'll go back to town. Yellow Springs. It's two hours before the sun sets, and we can walk a ways, look at the shops. I know they have a cinema. When was the last time we went to the cinema?'

'Six weeks ago,' she lolled to her back, a loose hand under her breast. 'Southern Chicago. An old film festival. Remember?'

'Yes, the Cary Grant and George Cukor films. I remember.'

'Thought you would, after you spent the following week impersonating Cary Grant's style as often as possible. Usually when I wasn't looking.'

'Yes, that was fun. Women were very fond of me, did you notice?

'Some fun! And women are always fond of you. Fawn over you like you're Sebastian Glasse or Adam Heat.'

'That's a backwards compliment, nonetheless I accept it, knowing your fondness for Herr Glasse. And allow me to say that you are often Jessica Chester. Shall we go, then?' He set his chin to the edge of the bed, so that it held up his face, matched with hers. He was almost near enough to catch a snippet of her smell. He did, sometimes, if close enough to her, if she'd gone a day or two without showering. Normally it was her hair, or fused scents of hair and deodorant and clean clothes.

Ro let her hand fall over his face. At first, her fingers nearly slipped through the first layer of gathered carbon dioxide that held the shape of his light and colour. But she felt it change, turning sharper, more solid, as he allocated greater energy to his form. It was then that she mistakenly thought him truer than she.

He moved as she moved, setting back his shoulders so as not to be in the way of her slender legs.

'I've got a better idea,' she said, smiling in that mischievous manner that meant he'd be spending a whole lot of credits.

This was not one of the mischievous smiles of credit-spending. Ro drove back to town, where she grabbed some takeaway from a local eatery, but ushered a dumbfounded, lost Zee back to the vehicle. She continued to drive, south again on SR 68, back the way they'd driven, but soon pulled off to a side street. Five hundred feet later and the town was gone, with farmland and softly rolling hills dappled in oak, cottonwood, elm, locust, willow, sycamore trees as far and even farther than he could see. Off on another side street, heading south again, bypassing Yellow Springs entirely, she eventually found a vacant spot, beside a grove of burgeoning wildflowers and thickening underbrush, vibrant verdure grown to the side of the road. She tossed Zee the blanket from the back seat, the two of them exiting at the same time. Ro found a suitable 'table of nature' near a solitary black locust tree, about to blossom in bundles of white buds. Once the blanket was set out, she sat down, legs folded beneath her, and took to the food.

The evening deepened, and they talked very little. Once, a strange, loud squawk whipped Ro's face to a quizzical expression. Zee interpreted.

'A quail. They're coming back to this area, though one hardly ever sees them. Sometimes there are wild turkeys, too. Both used to be thick through here. But suburban sprawl and the shrinking of their habitat damaged their population. Now they go where they can. More of them live north of here, in the Amish counties. There isn't as much destruction of habitat on protected lands. How is your food?'

'It's good. Probably not as spicy as I would like, but I'll deal. Was really hoping for something spicer since we're _not_ sharing a room. I can burp and fart all I want tonight.' She didn't know how Zee put up with her antics, her childish joking, her bodily functions. She supposed that somewhere inside of him a saint lurked and stood, foreboding, awake, in the presence of her.

'You can always burp and fart as much as you like.' He emoted indifference by a lift of a shoulder. 'Did I ever stop you from doing that before?'

'After seeing the size of the rooms, I don't blame you. Tiny! And only one bed. And the only chair a thin, wooden thing. You'd have to catch up on your hydrogen from the floor, tin man. You'll probably be up all night, anyway, watching John Wayne movies and making new holograms of your favourite action heroes.'

'Probably. Though I may break such smashing rules of convention by reading.'

'Are you still working on that Dumas book?'

'I am.'

'The one in French?'

'_Oui, ma chère. C'est le livre_.' Zee turned to his stomach, resting his head on hands beneath his jaw. He scanned the edge of the forest from the vantage point of the middle of a meadow. Birds were tucking themselves in for the night, making final calls to loved ones still catching bugs. Soon, the bats would come, dipping and diving and gorging themselves on what the birds had left behind. Ro had found a nice spot, peaceful, engaging, with much for the imagination to gain from this heavenly piece of reality. He'd rather stay there than force his way onto a military base in the morning. But it was for Selig. None of this would be happening if it hadn't been for Dr Eli Selig.

Except for Zee's fascination with Ro. That might have happened eventually. He was glad he hadn't discovered fine art until now, two years into wandering the country with Ro. It was already becoming a trying ordeal, wanting to watch her all the time, out the corner of his eye, just to see the way the sun touched her, how the wind shifted her clothes, moved her hair. Two years ago, he'd never been so jealous of the wind, but now he couldn't stand it. It got to touch her, reach her, _know_ her. He could never be wind. He was only light. Elemental, essentially, but of an element untouched by wind, only manipulated by gravity and thousands of carbon-based atoms travelling rapidly through time and space. If he closed his eyes tightly enough, shut out the world around him, he could feel himself shaking, all the atoms that made him what he was shaking, as he felt the earth's rapid rotations whenever Ro was near, the engagement of a wild, unpredictable ride.

She'd changed into a pink linen skirt before leaving, her jeans having been worn so long that she joked of needing help prying them from her body. The skirt's hem rose just a bit above her knees. Being directly across said knees, he had sight of a scar at the bony part of the patella. His finger poked it for indication.

'What's this from?'

Ro looked to see what he was pointing to. 'Oh, that. I fell off the roof once when I lived with the Morgans.'

He shifted to watch her face. 'You fell off the _roof_?' He hoped to break up his monotone voice by emphasising the last word. Ro had been trying to teach him this trick of speech. While never owning her dramatic italics, he did the best he could with knowledge and a stubborn robotic voice box.

'It's not as awful as it sounds.'

'I doubt that. It sounds—unhealthy.'

'Well,' she readied herself for the telling of this story, for once wanting to sound less dramatic, passing it off as childish antics by a restless nine-year-old, 'the roof was only eight feet from the ground. The roof over the front porch of the house. I went up there because we were playing—I don't remember what now—baseball or something—and this neighbour kid of ours threw my glove on the roof. Said he betted I couldn't climb up there and get it.'

'And you did?'

'Of course I did! Nothing was worse to me than being called a _girl_! Climbed right up this pine tree, right next to the roof, hopped over, grabbed the glove and—broke the tree branch when I was halfway on it. Branch, glove, and I fell down, right into the hawthorn bush. Mrs Morgan came out and—never seen her so angry or frightened. I was grounded, naturally. I was always grounded. I don't think I played baseball again after that. And I know I tried to beat up that kid at least _once_ at the bus stop. I'm sure I was grounded for that, too. I'd probably still be grounded if I hadn't run away. Anyhow, I've had the scar since. The gutter got me as I slipped. Could've been worse. I didn't break anything but that kid's perception of girls—hopefully. And that's not too bad.' Self-consciously, she rubbed the scar then tucked it away behind the skirt's hem. Her eyebrows wiggled Zee's direction. 'Didn't know I was such a trouble-maker, did you?'

'I didn't know you rescued abused gloves from roofs. Knowledge of that may come in handy someday. You weren't afraid of heights then?'

'I'm not _really_ afraid of heights. I'm afraid of heights if I've never been there before, if that makes sense.'

He thought it did. The sun's warm rays turned more gold than harsh white, the night coming sooner than he wanted it to. It would've been nice to be there for hours yet, whiling away time as a carefree young person might, with few worries and a father and mother to go home to. But in another way he thought himself luckier than most, for he was taking this wonderful creature, this friend of his, with him when he left. Tomorrow he'd wake up and she would be there. In the next room, but there.

They drove back to the inn silently. Ro didn't want to talk, and Zee didn't want to spoil Ro's mood by driving her mad with questions. She caught him watching her once and glared at him for it.

'Is something wrong with you? Aside from being a fugitive wanted for crimes you didn't commit, and dragging an innocent young woman along with you, I mean.'

'No, I'm splendid, thanks.'

He'd developed some sense of humour, finally, by watching films and observing how Ro handled it. She liked it, this slight improvement of his personality. It wasn't something she'd taught him—it couldn't be taught, only absorbed. It meant he'd done it on his own. He'd evolved again.

'You're looking at me a lot tonight.'

'Well, you're there—to be looked at. I can't watch myself, Ro.'

'Let me rephrase: You're _leering_ at me. Am I getting a pimple?' She nervously touched her nose but felt no pimply protrusion.

'There's nothing wrong with you. Please drive.'

She put the rear-view mirror back in place and watched the road. 'There must be something wrong with me. You don't look at me like that. Ever.'

He wondered if he should tell her. But it would have to be put into words. Words were useless, tawdry things, unforgivable flings that filtered emotions and were supposed to substitute hearts. 'Just thinking . . . that you're getting older.'

This cheered her slightly. 'Birthday next week! What'choo gonna get me?'

'Your freedom on a platter. And anything else you want. No diamonds. Holly Golightly is right, and a woman below forty is just too young for diamonds.'

'I agree with Holly.' They'd seen the movie _Breakfast At Tiffany's_ so often that speaking of Holly was like talking about someone they'd known forever. Holly Golightly was how Ro imagined her mother, in the rare instances she bothered fabricating dreams of her mother. 'Freedom, yeah? That is a fair, reasonable gift that's not at all abstract. Note the heavy sarcasm. A girl does turn eighteen just once in her life, Zee. It should be special.'

'If we don't get arrested tomorrow,' he angled his head to her, 'then it will be. I don't know how, but it will be.' He nodded, affirming this with as much conviction as conjecture on the future permitted wanted fugitives.

• º •

Please review! Critique encouraged!


	4. Lessons From Morning

004 – Lessons From Morning

The quality of the morning made Zee wish the world would play Pierre Rameau compositions straight from the sky, so all might have a musical background to go with a beautiful day. He flung the curtains aside in Ro's room, and the sun gladly poured in. Ro stirred, flipped to her stomach, and shied her head from the light, whimpering.

Zee exercised caution lifting the pillow from her blonde head. Mornings had come that were not so peaceful, nor received so well, and this cat-like Taurean woman fought back, claws and hooves and teeth at the ready. But she only whimpered again, adding a groan of disinterest, and tried to grab the pillow from him. Realising it was out of her reach, she sighed out lachrymose resignation, and flipped over to face him. It was only then he let the pillow be recaptured. Ro pulled it over her chest of sheet and blanket, her round chin in its ruffle. She had sleep at the corners of her eyes, and colour had not yet come to her cheeks, but he knew she'd slept well.

He sat at the bend of her knees, his side touching her shins. 'Breakfast?'

She glared at him, not in the feisty manner wishing for a fight, but exasperation. 'No way. I never like to eat before . . . You know.'

That part he'd forgotten. Ro didn't like to eat before executing a potentially life-threatening activity, such as infiltrating a military base as secretive as Wright-Patterson. And after Knossos, it took her a whole day to eat something. Even then, it hadn't stayed inside her long enough to gain any nutritional value. At least he'd been there to hold back her hair while throwing up. Mrs Morgan would never be able to say she'd done that.

He gave in to fleeting desire and touched her knee. At first it was cool, but warmed evenly beneath his own heat. 'It'll be over soon. We'll know something.'

'Either way,' she squeezed her arms at her middle, 'yeah, we will know something. We'll get arrested—_or_ we'll find out if Selig ever bothered having babies.' She picked up his hand and played with his docile fingers. 'I'm still betting he didn't. Don't you know men like that? Too obsessed with his work. He'd never find time to . . . Never mind.' She dropped his hand. It was like trying to imagine Mr and Mrs Morgan in the throes of passion. It couldn't be done. She didn't _want_ it to be done. As far as Ro was concerned, Selig had lived a nice life, a monk's life, except that God wasn't in a church: God was in the work. It was easier for Zee; he didn't have to imagine anything. His mind was so black and white. Things either were or they weren't. Like a reptile, he dreamed not at all. She shifted out of bed and passed him, taking up her clothes off the bureau.

This was a routine. Ro showered. Zee watched the news. Then they would head out. But that morning, when Ro came out of the shower, Zee was nowhere in sight. She hurriedly tugged on her shoes and headed towards the car. On the way, unintentionally, she found him. He was sitting on a bench in the hotel's lavish side garden, reading his Dumas and fitting in with the atmosphere so much it almost made her ache. The times he looked as everyone else made her lose composure. Because he wasn't. He was better than them. To a certain extent, he was better than her—knowing well that Zee, had she stated aloud that opinion, would've argued in that calm, aloof form of quarrelling.

He heard her coming and set aside the thick book. She sat next to him, toes inward on the flagstone. Bees buzzed among the lavender. A bird chirped in a flowering crab apple. Ants silently marched the stems of irises.

'So.'

'So.'

'Are we going?'

'I think so.'

'What time is the IT team arriving to fix the base's computers?'

'Ten.'

'And the soda distributor guy so they don't go thirsty or caffeine-deprived?'

'Around ten-twenty.'

'Current time?'

'Eight-forty.'

She hadn't realised he'd let her sleep in. He rather liked it when they were up and on their way by seven-thirty. With a ten-minute shower, that meant she'd only been awake twenty-five minutes. He'd _really_ let her sleep in. She brushed an itch from her neck and waited for him to suggest their next manoeuvre.

The length of two minutes zipped by. He'd said nothing. Finally, the door behind them opened, and out popped a man in his late forties, with greying brown hair and a smile on his ruddy face.

'Good morning. Rooms one-ten and one-twelve, right?' He didn't wait for them to nod. Instead, he let the garbage fall into the dumpster and shut the gate that encapsulated it. 'Continental breakfast, you know, in the lounge. Got coffee. Tea. My wife's scones, too, which we don't have every day.'

'Thanks,' Ro said, twisted in the bench to see him, 'but we're going to leave soon.'

'No rush,' he waved a hand, 'check-out's not till one.'

'We're not checking out,' Zee suddenly said. 'We'd hope you'd put up with us for another night, at least.'

Ro gaped at him. Was he crazy? Is this what a crazy synthoid looked like? Funny that Crazy Zee looked remarkably similar to Sane Zee.

'I think we can do that,' the hotel manager said. 'Have yourselves a good morn.'

Once he was gone, Ro clung to Zee's arm. He attempted no prise of her fingers from his outer hologram. By instinct, he'd strengthened its calibration. Ro felt it harden beneath her hands.

'I don't know what's going on with you,' she said solemnly, 'but I'm going to find out. And don't think I won't!' She pointed a commanding finger at his nose. 'You can't get reckless! Not now!'

'I'm not being reckless.' He squirmed, a knee bent across the bench seat, to better see her. 'Don't you like it here? Don't you think we should stay another night? Don't you think it might be a good idea if we have some sort of alibi? Don't you think we should see if everything goes okay today before we run out of here?'

Her shoulders slacked. 'I hate it when you're right.'

She pouted. Zee smashed her lips together and she crossed her eyes. She giggled, and he felt himself grow envious of the laughter coming from inside. He wished he could laugh with her, to share insoluble, magical joy. Mimicking a laugh was not the same as laughing for its own sake.

'And, yes,' she nodded, grinning at him, 'I do want to stay here. One more night at least. But I won't make any plans,' she looked away, 'in case something goes wrong.'

'Nothing will go wrong.' Zee returned the book, his security blanket, and tried pacifying Ro's worries. 'We have it planned meticulously.'

'No offence to your little chip of optimism, Zee, but we haven't exactly had the best luck the last nine months. Brother's Day is becoming more and more powerful. Sweete is _not_ dead, despite our best wishes—but he seems to have become as invisible as Selig was. Bucky's in the Tech befriending crazy men who call themselves the Ballistic Fringe, which still sounds like a bad 20's big hair band to me. We're not even positive that the air force base is going to solve anything. We're so out of touch with our cause that we've resorted to checking Selig's background to see if anyone else knows whether or not he's alive, or if he left some record of why you're _good_.'

She'd worked herself up so that tears blossomed in eyes of cornflower blue. Zee slipped an arm over her shoulders and tightened ease into her. She huffed, frustrated and forlorn. Their last nine months had been sedentary, with little to occupy their time but the occasional chase from the NSA. Even they seemed to have backed off exponentially.

'What do we do? I mean, if we can't find Selig—if there's no trace of you that he left behind. Then what?'

'I don't know,' he shook his head against hers. His thoughts wandered to a bee busily bobbing between lavender blossoms. He reached down and plucked off a stem to hold beneath Ro's upturned nose. 'Smell this.'

She lifted her gaze to his, taking the sprig. 'Lavender. Mrs Morgan used to grow this. And another Mary down the street. It's nice. Brings back memories. The really old stuff I don't really remember.'

'It's supposed to calm you down.'

'It doesn't. Not me. It stimulates. Makes me homesick. Homesick for what—I don't know. Just does. An empty space inside of me. A spot where there's no laughter, no anything—just a dull ache.' She twirled the lavender between thumb and forefinger, regarding Zee's profile, flawless, imperial. 'What do we do if we can't find him? We've never really talked about it before.'

'I thought—' He broke the sentence apart, looking at her for the strength to begin anew. 'I thought we might find your mother.'

Ro leaned into the bench, limbs floppy, eyes lidded. She caught the scent of lavender again, and behind it the entrancing morning dew on meadowsweet and asphodel. In a world like that, with smells so tempting, she could believe anything, even that she'd open her eyes and find her mother standing in front of her, roses and wildflowers piled in her graceful arms. The image vanished behind a puff of smoke and Zee's sudden movement. She flung open her eyes and found, not her mother, but her friend, his hand outstretched.

• º •

Please review! Critique encouraged!


	5. Acquisitions

005 – Acquisitions

Zee's internal display clock read 10:10:43:11 when they entered the base. Easier than they thought it'd be, he heard Ro murmur this fact as she remained a stack of lemon-lime soda crates. He whispered for her to be quiet a few minutes longer. Holding her at the arms, he felt her biceps tense and relax, as though she'd had trouble contemplating being silent.

Once on base, no one bothered them. He'd noticed this fact when they'd been in Little Rock, Arkansas, and had snuck onto the AFB there for much the same reason they were in Dayton. In their premiere design of this infiltration, Zee was supposed to drop Ro off as soon as he could. That meant leaving her in the administration building and to find her own way to Hangar B. An idea that was now completely out of the question. He'd be out of his mind to leave Ro alone on a military base.

Fortune, or whatever it may be called, favoured them yet again. Coincidentally, Hangar B, at its entrance point, had five offices—and a snack room with a soda machine. If he'd entered the offices with a questioning expression from personnel, he would've claimed a mistake and turned around.

Instead, he got greeted with a smile. 'Hello,' the receptionist said, a perky, small young woman with vibrant blonde hair. She indicated the signature pad on the lip of the desk. 'Just sign in right there. Haven't seen you before.'

'Temporary, only for today.' He scribbled an almost illegible name with his right hand, holding to Ro with his left. 'I guess the other guy's sick as a dog.'

'Oh,' she nodded, exuding vague interest. 'Well, the room's right down the hall, third door on the left.' The phone rang, leaving Zee free to 'wheel' Ro ahead.

He sped up once beyond the offices. It didn't look like many people had come in that day; many had only silence behind the closed doors. The hologram disengaged. Ro was herself once more. Zee immediately slipped into a new hologram. He handed Ro her own holographic emitter. She anchored it around her wrist then hit the engage button. Zee had programmed it for her last night, and Ro's only request, as usual, was that she have slightly larger breasts than she did in reality. It had become something of a game with her. She sorrowed that the hologram only made her chest normal-sized, though Zee saw no blemish in the holographic Ro in front of him. Ro took out thick, blue-rimmed glasses from the front pocket of her tweed blazer and put them on her nose, pushing them up in the middle.

'Geeky enough for ya?'

'Geeky enough.' He bobbed his head to indicate the end of the passage. 'I think the room we want is on the other side of that door.'

'Don't they have cameras in this place?'

'There are four in the hangar itself, but none in the rest of the building.' He worked rapidly, data cord extended into the security panel, to allow them clean access.

'That's a bit risky. I thought you said this place is high security?'

'They also have a high amount of civilian employees. And in a hundred years have suffered no consequences of poor security.'

The door clicked and Zee held it open long enough for Ro to enter, then let it shut silently. The lights came on after detecting motion. Ro halted, flabbergasted at the sight.

'This must be the place.'

She looked at Zee. He, too, found the line of debris mesmerizing, rising piecemeal from floor to ceiling on thick shelves of wood and metal. All spots on the shelves were numbered and dated, computer-tagged to allow a slimmer chance of human error. Ro observed the parts for signs of the familiar, something they could use. She darted towards one, taking Zee's sleeve.

'Here. Will it work?'

Without an immediate way to be sure, he let the data cord slip again from his wrist into the machine. It booted a familiar operating system. 'Seems fine,' he said. 'Will you watch the door?'

She put a hand on her hip. 'What's it going to do? Tricks?'

'Ro, this is important. If we're caught breaking into this place, reading files on computers that are not even supposed to exist, taken from the remains of a place that wasn't supposed to exist—we'll be treated like terrorists. Go on. I'll be done in sixty seconds.' He pushed her away to show his assertiveness and seriousness. Finally, Ro went to the door and put an ear to it.

The computer's processor ran at a speed just slightly slower than his own. And, anyway, that equalled beyond fast. He enabled a hard drive scan for 'Selig'. There were 453 matches. All were files Selig had created, or he was mentioned in them in some way. Zee rapidly downloaded these to his system. The entire process was done in fifteen seconds. With time to spare, Zee initiated other searches. One for Dr Boyle: 82 matches. One for Dr Arroyo: 39 matches. One for Infiltration Unit Zeta: 126 matches. When he'd used up forty-six of his sixty seconds, he shut the computer down, detached himself, and met Ro at the door.

'I still don't hear anything.'

'Good.' He held her shoulders, moving her aside so he would be first to exit. Ro never went first, if that could be helped. Yet, once or twice, she went ahead without telling him.

The hallway was as clear as they'd left it. Zee listened closely for a moment, additionally hearing nothing. Grabbing Ro's hand, he pulled her along, quick strides to the end of the hall, where it turned right to lead them back to the offices and reception area. With no footfalls in the oncoming corridor, Zee paused and brought out the optic camera in his left hand forefinger. The hall remained empty. A wide, pleasingly vacant space. They walked down it, side by side, and were five feet along when one of the office doors opened and a man stepped out, holding an empty coffee cup. Ro thought quickly.

'I think you're wrong,' she said to Zee, pushing up her glasses again. Zee just gaped at her.

'I beg your—'

'The core system's analyst program has gone completely haywire. I think it's a virus, but—' The words quit when the man had gone into the snack room. 'Okay, well, that was a little too close.'

Zee threw a cautious leer at the snack room doorway, to make sure the man took his time filling up the mug. If luck continued her shiny favouritism, he would take cream and sugar, too. In six seconds, Zee had Ro as emptied soda crates on a dolly. In an additional eleven seconds, he had his persona signed out of the hangar and they were back in the sunshine.

Their car, holomorphed to look like a vehicle from the existing soda company they were shamming, waited at a visitor's parking spot that they reached with no trouble. Ro, back to being able to use her own hands and feet, jumped into the seat. Zee wanted the pleasure of driving their 'getaway'. Once they passed through the gate, Ro knew tension had gone. A great swish of relief waved into her stomach. She moaned a lengthy sigh and slipped downward in the seat.

'I'm so glad that's over. If I ever say that I would like to do that again, turn me over to Agent Bennett.'

He hit the key on the dash that undid the hologram. A benefit of having the same car for a lengthy period of time, should you happen to be a fugitive, is affixing it with your own mechanical and technological gizmos. He'd put the holomorph capability into the car one weekend while they were in the South Dakota Badlands, a particularly desolate region where they'd had no trouble seeing the agents coming. Other modifications came soon after: GPS scrambler, a computer to download movies and shows from the internet, a sound system to make teenage boys envious, and the seat in the back folded down on hydraulics to a comfortable bed for Ro. In the last nine months, Zee had plenty of free time. Altering his car was one way of passing time, but he'd also brought slight improvements to himself, whenever he could. But updating an Infiltration Unit was significantly more difficult than updating a car. It wasn't as though he could go to the local Gizmo Shack and buy himself some toes or a replacement phalange. As of yet, he hadn't needed anything so serious; he still had all his fingers, both his eyes, and everything worked as it should. What he did to himself were unnecessary improvements, mere luxury amenities, that increased his value if not his overall usefulness.

What he really wanted and couldn't have was a better sense of touch, an increased sense of smell. Apparently the Infiltration Unit scientists decided their creation would have little cause for such senses. His sense of smell was thirty-six percent less than the average human. His sense of touch was a tenth of theirs. The latter bit infuriated at times.

He wanted to be able to stand in the wind and feel it . . . to feel the fine hairs on Ro's arms . . . to know the warmth of the sun . . . the feel of a sandy beach against his feet.

Having such a limited sense of touch made him so far less than a human, even if, in so many other ways, he surpassed them. He could speak six languages fluently but often wished to know more. He could repeat Pi forever. He could talk to machines. He could look at something broken and know immediately how to fix it. With these capabilities came terrific chasms of inability.

There was so much he could do; but for everything he could do, there were two things he couldn't that someone human could.

'Ro,' he started, after glimpsing at her, 'turn it off.'

'Aww, I was just having fun!' She sighed and the reflection in the visor mirror did the same. She took one last look at the cleavage, hooked the top button, and finally, with enormous reluctance, turned the holographic emitter off entirely. 'Well, there they go.' She handed the emitter over to Zee. 'I hope you're happy.'

'Immensely.' He put the emitter in a body cavity beneath his exterior. 'Should it be some consolation, I like your breasts just the way they are.'

'Please never use that word again. You're not allowed to say words that not even I say.'

He smirked secretively, making her wonder if he would heed or disregard the command.

'Where do we go now?'

'Somewhere out of the way so I may have a chance to analyse the information we've just stolen.'

'Stolen? I know we're criminals and all, but do you have to rub it in?'

'Confiscated? Commandeered? Acquired?'

'I like acquired. Maybe drive around for a while. Let's see what else this place has to offer.'

'Done. Driving around it is. Unless you'd like to drive.'

'No, thank you. I'm still a little shaky from all the danger and excitement you put me through. Were you able to find anything interesting?'

'I won't know the full extent of what I downloaded until I'm able to read the documents separately. I can tell you that I, er, acquired over seven hundred documents, possibly some applications.'

'Were you able to find out if Selig left any sign of you?'

'I don't know,' he responded solemnly, thinking of the 126 files matching his 'Infiltration Unit Zeta' search. 'I hope so.'

'Me too.'


	6. Biorythms

006 — Biorhythms

By the time they reached the next most-northern county, Ro's stomach began disagreeing with its emptiness. She tried putting her hands over it and telling it to quiet down, but of no use; stomachs rarely follow the orders of their owners. Zee flashed her expressions of semi-amusement. In the repose of her stomach, as if for a moment abiding, Zee suggested Ro investigate eatery destinations on the computer. Ro wrestled it from the crowded back seat of the hatchback, and brought it upon her knees. Hooking it up to the car's computer, their location appeared almost immediately in a certain software program set up for such a thing. Restaurants of all varieties popped up on the map. As she often did, Ro lamented that this form of doing things was considerably new, only developed in the last three months, and wished they'd had it two years ago. Then again, in the recess following Knossos, much had changed. Necessity, that constant mother of invention, propelled their 2041 model Audi hatchback convertible into a futuristic car that might've earned Zee a paying position with the Audi corporation, had he been anything but a wanted fugitive.

Stopping in the parking lot of Ro's chosen restaurant, a local place with eyelet curtains in the windows, Zee went around to the trunk and opened it. Buried beneath satchels of Ro's clothes, a couple of pillows, and discarded pieces of the vehicle itself, Zee unearthed the hidden door he'd built into the hollow area where the spare tyre waited use.

'We need some cash,' he told Ro, standing at his side. She was trying desperately to keep trash and pillows from blowing out the trunk, as the wind was gusty along this treeless, open hilltop.

Fumbling with the pillows, Zee finally coming to her aid, Ro let her forefinger slide down the glowing white and blue strip at the small safe's door. Zee had built it from forerunning knowledge of biorhythms. It only opened with Ro's biorhythmic pattern, no one else's. The strip turned from blue to green, and the door slid aside. A stack of green cash cards was huddled inside. They certainly had plenty of money, but there was a reason for the cash and the safe.

The National Security Agency had provided Zee, at the very beginning, with a cred card of unlimited value. Unlimited meant unlimited: after each use, the card refilled itself, as though nothing had ever been taken from it. It could be used anywhere, for the smallest amount of money to the largest. Only one hitch: The NSA could track that cred card, each use showing up in their systems. They'd know, almost instantly, exactly where Zee's cred card was. Where that cred card was, so was Zee—and likely Ro.

Long ago, long before Knossos, almost around the time they discovered who Dr Eli Selig was, Zee and Ro had found a way around the cred card issue. The cred card could also buy cash, and lots of it. Brilliant, green, useful, _untraceable_ cash cards. That was the secret around using Zee's cred card every time they turned around. In their tipsy, post-Knossos, post-Selig world, Zee and Ro began buying very large quantities of cash cards at one time, typically while leaving one city they'd been in for a rather long period of time, until the cash ran low. This change in their way of doing things had caused Zee to build the safe. He'd had the idea of a biorhythmic lock for some time, but it wasn't until their last meeting with Bucky that Zee was able to get his hands on the proper hardware to bring his plans to fruition.

And, to Ro's astonishment, Zee put her in charge of their finances. She kept track of them in her mind as well as using a computer program, all their expenses, from the cheapest cup of java to the purchase of the car in 2042—and everything between. Ro took pride in this, as Zee had appointed her the task, and she didn't want to fail him. She surprised herself by being very good at it.

'How much are you taking out?' she asked very quickly.

Zee counted the three green plastic cards in his hands, the magnetic strips all facing to the left. 'Three hundred. That should be enough to last us a couple days.'

Ro nodded complacency. 'That'll leave us with—' the calculation whipped into her head like magic, 'fifteen hundred and eighty, then.' The safe was locked at her touch, and she closed the boot with a whoosh. Ro took one card proffered by Zee, murmuring a thanks. The two of them were still separate entities, and tried, occasionally, when warned to do so, to remember this fact. She carried cash whenever having the pocket or handbag for it, should they ever find themselves without the other, and cash was something nice to have when trying to recover from being lost. Zee carried the most with him, Ro generally a third of what he had. So far, and she crossed her fingers as she thought of it, mentally conjuring the image also of knocking generously on wood, she had never needed the emergency cash. She'd become so disciplined with money that spending it on frivolous items brought guilt to her guts.

As it was off-hours for lunch time, a little after one-thirty in the afternoon, Zee brought Ro's computer into the restaurant. Once the host procured a table by the window, with a cheery prospect of a lazy hill that sloped into a boscage, Zee used his wireless connection to speak with the computer. He tried to use his newly-acquired wireless networking with any computer when in public. It severed the chance someone in a Ground Wire or other location might notice his data cord protruding from his man-shaped wrist. Wireless had the added advantage of being controlled better, not to mention protected by far greater security measures than a poky old standard line.

Ro ate a hamburger much higher than her mouth, along with seasoned fries, commenting every once in a while on the state of Zee's rather exasperating silence. Every thirty seconds she'd be at his throat, not literally, just to ask if he'd found anything useful. He kept putting off the answer. At last, twenty-two minutes later, Ro in the process of polishing off a three-tiered piece of dessert the server had called "buckeye pie", Zee let the lid of the computer snap closed, and gaped at her with thoughtful eyes of deep blue, a shade that Ro often wanted to call "occidental blue", after the colour of the sky in the western states.

Ro froze a bite of cake just before her mouth. Her eyebrows lifted. 'Well?' She knew, by the thickness gathering between them, that whatever he said next would be very profound—or a very profound lie passed off as truth.

Zee brought his hands together across the top of the computer, and waited, patient with the run of eager thoughts. 'There are two good things and one bad thing I was able to discover. So far. Though, bear in mind I have just gone through a small portion of the acquired files.'

'All right.' Ro dropped the fork, still with its small bite of cake on it; she was too unsettled to think of eating. 'What's the bad news?'

'Selig has no family.'

Ro snorted, laughter crossing with disgust. 'I told you!' It couldn't help flying out of her mouth. She _did_ tell him Selig would be too busy to procreate. The thought of little white-haired, glasses-wearing, white-lab-coat-wearing wee Seligs progenies vanished indelicately. 'There's good news in that?'

'Good news is,' he paused a moment, almost unable to believe it himself, 'we're standing in Selig's home state.'

This brought Ro into a delighted guffaw. She snorted again at the tail end of the abounding rapture. 'He really _is_ from Ohio! I was only joking about that!' This statement alluded to a joke she had made once that Selig was likely to be from one of the most boring states in the nation, and Ro's mind had immediately gone to Ohio.

Zee, however, with his hands clasped in front of him, his nose slightly raised in the air, looked snobbishly down at her. He found no amusement in it. 'Ohio has produced a great number of presidents. Not as many as Virginia, but more than any other current state. Not to mention an astronaut, some of your favourite actors, notable personalities in the business world, and that dessert your eating.'

She waved the fork at him, telling him to get on with it when her mouth couldn't. It was too full of pie. Had her mouth not been full, she may have admitted that Ohio knew pies.

'There is little we could do to track Selig down. If he does have family, they're likely to be distant relatives who'd know nothing about him.'

Swallowing the last piece of pie, Ro set down the fork and pushed the plate to the end of the table. 'What else? That can't be all.'

'It isn't.' He looked outside to gather the information into words that could be spoken. 'I downloaded some information on the original Zeta project team. Like the old hologram picture I got from the NSA—you remember.'

'Yeah,' Ro tried not to make the agreement sound sombre. But the day he'd acquired that holographic file was the same day they'd met. It seemed like a long time ago, as though many bitter winters and scentless springs and forgotten summers had passed since. 'And?'

'We never did discover the identities of all those faces.'

Ro's brow bent in the middle. That was true. They hadn't. When Selig died, with no way to clear Zee's name, it had become unimportant. Most things that'd been important before were now transcendent thoughts that brought nothing but misery and woe. If someone had wanted to prove Zee was innocent, and had the evidence to prove that innocence, why hadn't that someone come forward by now?

'And you've found out some names?' Ro put her heavy chin in her palms, gazing at Zee. He looked maudlin and—oddly enough for a robot—a little tired, as though the edges of his hologram were beginning to show signs of wear and age. Perhaps she wasn't the only one getting older.

'Yes, I did,' he said, trying to look less bleak and more hopeful. 'The short one, in the front—'

'With the curly hair? Well, what hair he had.'

'That is he. His name is Dr Smart.'

'Dr Smart?' Ro grinned and slipped into a fit of laughter again. This time Zee couldn't feign insouciance; he hinted a smile. Ro waved her arms. 'Let me guess his first name! Is it Eugene?'

Zee shook his head.

'Linus?'

He shook his head.

'Lionel?'

He shook his head.

'Lawrence?'

He shook his head, now growing exasperated. 'You are _obsessed_ with "L" names! His name is—'

'Oh, I know! It's Xavier! We haven't met an Xavier yet, and it has such a nice, collegiate sound. Is it Xavier?'

'No,' Zee coughed out a breath that sounded, to someone trained to his kinematics like Ro, like a laugh. 'Will you stop guessing and allow me to tell you?'

Biting her lips to keep from smiling, she poised herself.

'His name is Dr Samuel Smart. I assume his friends call him Sam.'

'Sam,' repeated Ro. 'That sounds so normal. Could be the name of this restaurant's owner. Or a detective. So, what's Sam Smart up to these days? Did you find out?'

'He was one of Selig's closest friends. One of the few. Eli Selig didn't have many close to him, and none of them he trusted explicitly. Not even, so it seems, Miss Donoso.'

Ro's mouth pursed as if often did when Andrea Donoso, Selig's assistant, was mentioned. Zee had been able to find out, by some hacking into the NSA's systems, that Andrea Donoso remained on the government payroll. As to what she was doing, it wasn't on file. _She_ existed, but her work did not. Ro had nauseous, indescribable feelings that Andrea Donoso was carrying on Selig's super-secret operations somewhere they'd never be able to find her, perhaps on another Knossos.

As Ro heard Mr Morgan say, back when she was still a little girl in Oregon, Andrea Donoso was on her shit-list. A list that was growing and growing every day. Agent James Bennett was at the top, followed by the other agents whose names she knew, a few only with faces, then Andrea—some days even Bucky. Though he'd wended his way to the bottom, sometimes eradicated from it, because he genuinely wanted to help them, but with his hands proverbially tied into the Tech Underground, there wasn't much he could do.

'I came across some of their e-mails,' Zee went on, paying no mind to Ro's inattention. 'They were talking about me as late as last June last year, 2043.'

'What about you?'

'About what I'd been doing. Speculation. Dr Smart had asked Dr Selig if he really believed I was a terrorist.'

'What'd Selig say?'

Zee shrugged, acting this out much better than he might have a year ago. Ro idly wondered if Selig would be proud of how well Zee blended in to the population around him. 'That letter seems to have no response, or it was wiped from the hard drive. That was the last letter that Dr Selig received from Dr Smart. Then . . . Knossos went under. The end. If Selig answered, I'll never know.'

Ro rubbed her chin, looking out the window as though it would help clear her thoughts. 'Maybe not.'

Zee's head perked. 'What do you mean?'

'That's just the Knossos servers, yeah? I mean that you downloaded those e-mails from.'

'Yes.' He wasn't following. Usually he could, but not this time.

'Well, what about the receiving end? What if the e-mail was left on Dr Smart's servers? It might still be there, wouldn't it?'

In a paroxysm of hope, Zee grabbed her hands and squeezed.

'All we'd have to do,' she started, 'is find Dr Smart's office, do a little of what we're good at, and find that e-mail. So, where's Dr Smart?'

Zee didn't let go of her hands, and now he held her gaze as though dumbstruck. 'That's what I was trying to tell you before. Selig and Dr Smart were close friends.'

'Yeah—so?'

'Since _childhood_.'

Ro gripped his fingers back, a rush of feeling clouding her emotions. 'Oh.'

'They went to school together. And Dr Smart teaches now. He's a professor of biochemistry.'

'And so where is Dr Smart?'

Zee whispered it, finding it unbelievable still. 'Antioch College. Yellow Springs, Ohio.'


	7. Lessons From Rain

007 – Lessons from Rain

Ro threw out plans of how they would go about sneaking into the Antioch campus and tracking down Dr Smart. Zee half-heartedly listened, and kept trying to tell her that he saw no reason to speak with Dr Smart in person. Ro seemed to sense that he wasn't listening to her, and so, in turn, didn't listen to him. At least, on their way back to Yellow Springs, Ro did listen to one proposition.

'Let's do nothing until tomorrow, okay?'

She agreed with a frown and a nod of her head. They had done too much already, and squeezing more breaking and entering into a six-hour period had roots in ridiculousness. Just because they were fugitives already didn't mean they had to become as stupid as most criminals.

'Can we at least drive by the campus, find the building where his office is? That won't hurt anything.'

Too curious himself, Zee trundled the Audi through town, curving around its wide, tree-lined streets and eyeing all the brick campus buildings with caution and care. Ro used the computer to access the college's website, along with a map, which aided their unguided tour. They wound up on the outskirts of town, well beyond the limits of college campus. Large, ominous trees and a haggardly garden met Ro outside her rolled-down window.

'What _is_ this place?'

Zee slowed down. With no cars behind them, and the road deserted, he could afford a stop. Behind a large iron fence falling to ruin and dripping with both dead and thriving greenery, a mansion in disrepair howled at them silently. To Zee, who was beginning to understand the feeling of all things, thought the house in a great amount of pain. Fashioned of brick and more ancient than most, it would take more than a couple of tornadoes and a straight-line wind to take it out. It would be there longer than Zee cared to think about, always just lingering at the threshold of total dilapidation. Ornery kids had long ago discoloured its exterior with spray paint. The windows were panels of rotting wood. There was a sizeable hole in one section of the roof, near the front. And a chimney had collapsed while another had been taken over by swallows.

'Looks like the kind of place Selig might've grown up in,' commented Ro. 'What's the sign say on the front door?'

Zee had already zoomed in to read it. 'The sign says: Humans Beware! Ghosts Ahead!'

Ro laughed, high-pitched and feminine. 'It's the local haunted house! I bet this place is a gas and a half at Halloween!'

A car suddenly came up behind them, and Zee moved ahead. Ro watched the house vanish around the curve. She settled back into the seat, the computer paid attention to again.

'I bet you Dr Smart's been to that house a few times,' Zee suddenly spoke.

'Why's that?'

'He's a scientist, Ro.'

'No, he's a professor.'

'But you know scientists, don't you?'

She pouted at him. 'I liked you better when you didn't practice all this—what's it called?—curricolocushion?'

'Circumlocution.'

'Yeah, what you said. Back then, you just said what you wanted to say. No filtering. No jiving it up with your fancy new collection of adverbs. Get _on_ with it already, slagger.'

'Scientists like to have hobbies.'

She sniggered at this. 'If that's true, I'd love to know what Selig's was. Maybe he collected renegade Infiltration Units. What's Dr Smart's?' But it suddenly dawned on Ro what it was, without any further aid from Zee. Her eyes widened. 'You mean—he's a ghost hunter? A parapsychologist? No way!'

'That's what he talked about in his e-mails.'

'Killer _shuai_!' But her eyes wouldn't leave the computer screen. Zee, driving, couldn't see what she was up to. 'Hey, turn right up here. Then take the second left.'

'Why?'

'You'll see.'

About three miles later, he did see. It would've been impossible not to see. At the start of a narrow, badly paved road, the trees were thin and far apart, but grew exponentially thicker and thicker. The countryside was so quiet that he heard the unmistakable sounds of rushing water ahead. Then, suddenly, as if the trees couldn't grow any thicker, they parted to make room for a blocky, barn-like structure the colour of a robin's breast.

The car crawled to a halt. Zee stared.

'That's not something you see every day.'

'No, it isn't,' giggled Ro, delighted. She hopped from the car before Zee had a chance to turn off its engine. He soon joined her. They stood at one another's side, facing the canopied covered bridge.

Ro nodded at it, as though having some long-interred suffering finally reaching an end. 'First one, you know.'

'First one?' He couldn't take his eyes from it.

'First one we've ever actually seen with our own working eyes, I mean, not just in a picture. I've always wanted to see one. Haven't you? You hear so much about them. Especially when we're passing through Iowa. But, you know, Ohio seems to have a fair few itself. They restore them. I don't know who, exactly, just people. I don't think they have a Covered Bridge Restoration and Preservation Society or something, a local chapter of the Rotary or Lions club. No, just average people taking care of them, chipped in by the local historical societies. This one,' she scanned it again, 'belongs to the county, not Yellow Springs. It's on public land.'

Zee glared at her. In a purple and yellow plaid shirt, threadbare blue jean cut-offs, with plain white canvas trainers, and her sun-bleached hair in two braids behind her ears, she _looked_ like a local talking of her habitat.

'Take a moment, Zee. Relax yourself. I think we're going to be alone here for a while.' She walked towards the bridge, pointing up as she went.

For the first time, he noticed the sun had gone, replaced by a large, unhappy blue-grey cloud. As if acting on cue, a roll of thunder came across the green hillsides and grumbled overhead, then diminished behind him. If the clouds had anything to say about it, the bridge would be tourist-free for at least the next fifteen minutes, judging by how quickly the storm seemed to be moving. Ro had already taken shelter beneath the bridge. He could hear her feet scraping along the wooden planks. She gazed at the walls like one observing fine paintings. The premiere drop of cool rain fell upon his forehead, and the wind rustled his coal hair and toyed with the hem of his shirt. Ro seemed greatly unfazed by the approaching weather. He watched her in awe and fascination. Some women, he'd noticed, were observed best from a distance. Ro had a lovely shape that was at its best perspective several feet away. But, even up close, she had unique qualities fit to smitten any man. Most notably were the sun freckles on the bridge of her nose. Only appearing at the break of spring, lasting until the middle of October, Zee thought he could stare at them for hours. And every day as spring came on and the sun grew nearer, every morning he could pick out the newly formed light brown spots. For six months out of the year, those freckles were _his_ as much as Ro's.

The rain became torrential. Ro, realising Zee hadn't come inside, turned towards the car. Alarmed to see him standing there, as though the gap sprung in heaven brought nothing more than a charming morning mist, Ro dashed to the end of the bridge.

'What are you doing?' she scolded. 'If you rust up out there, I'm not going to ask one of the neighbours for an oil can! Get in here! Now!'

Moving did seem a good idea. Suppose someone happened to come by and wondered what he was doing in the rain? His hologram could take on the illusion of being wetted by falling droplets—the changes in the density of the air calculated this for him—but he knew his presence in the clashes of thunder, lighting, and rain would be enough to give any of adequate mind pause. He shuffled his feet ever forward, dipping into muddy holes already transformed to puddles. Finally reaching Ro, just under the overhang, he tilted forward so that his wet hair might drip on her. Ro pretended to ignore it. She was close enough to smell the changes in him from the rain. It blended harmoniously with the outline of his holomorphic disguise, bringing about the scent of gently warmed electronics, a brisk cologne of ozone and hot internal gears. The odour comforted. For a flash quick as the lightning across the emblazoned sky, she wondered what it would be like never to know that scent again, to live the rest of her life without it. But an inner conscious told her that living without Zee was an option, a choice she may have to make someday—just not that day—and never in the rain.

Ro tensed when he put his hands against the slope of her shoulders. His chin went to her forehead. She felt his dampness then, engulfed in the scents of it. Her own sense of self seemed to dribble away, disintegrated, as Zee crossed lines of her personal space without invitation. One of his hands wandered to the base of her neck, capturing her sprig of slowly unwinding hair, up to her scalp and finally down across her nose.

'Ro?'

She opened her eyes, awareness of his closeness living the contradictory line between frightening and enthralling. 'Yeah?'

'What does the rain smell like?'

'Clean,' she said, voice just next door to a whisper. 'Clear. Fresh. Like the ocean. Like morning. Like you smell right now.' Her eyes flickered across his dampened face, a mere inch from hers, down to his lips, then back to his eyes. 'You can't smell it?'

He shook his head and drew away. 'No . . . No, I can't. A slight change,' he explained, stepping back into the rain anew, 'but that is all.' With his palms up and arms stretched at his sides, he set back his head and winced into the drops.

'You're crazy.' She tried to make it sound scoffing, failing miserably. It sounded envious.

'Come on,' he beckoned, smiling. 'Come into the rain with me.'

'No.'

'Please?'

'No, you slagger. Rain is—is wet. And kind of cold. I never dance in the rain until June, at the earliest.'

'Petty excuses. You know I can keep you warm.'

He had his arm towards her, fingers twiddling a coax. Ro watched the rivulets of rain slip from his palm and die in the damp dirt road. She didn't want to be close to him again. The thought of it gave her shivers, leaving the feeling of a cool breeze wrapping around her body. She wouldn't go. Zee came back to her, and, for a fleeting moment Ro stood triumphant, thinking she'd won. Instead, he took her by the elbows, almost forcefully, and drew her to the falling sky. Resigned to becoming soaking wet, Ro stood there in front of him, ogling at his audacity, his assertiveness, and the peculiar, unfamiliar way he watched her. With her wrists held loosely by his hands, he closed the space between them. The top of her head, her shoulders, the back of her neck by now were soaked, and a sudden rush of wind finished off all parts of her that might have once been dry. Finally, Zee let go of her hands, and the only part of him that touched her was his cheek pushed against hers. She felt more wonderment now than fear. Zee had never done this before. He'd never wanted to be close to her. He'd never wanted to stand with her in the rain. He'd never wanted to know what rain smelled like.

'Now that you're wet,' he said, tilting so his speech caught in her ear, 'I know what the rain smells like. It changes you. It's the changes I know. In those differences lies the truth.' He leaned away, almost abruptly, and noticed her lips trembling, her shoulders twitching. 'You're shivering.'

'I'm—I'm cold. I told you,' she swallowed an attack of disabling nerves, 'the rain is cold. I think I'll go back in the car. It'll stop soon.'

'Your shivering?'

'No,' she didn't turn back to look at him, 'the rain.'

Once inside, Ro went immediately to the computer. As soon as she had the e-mail addressed, her fingers stiffened over the keyboard. What was she supposed to write? Glancing out the windscreen, she saw Zee now inside the bridge, meandering down it slowly. She remembered the musty scent of its insides, the dust grinding against the soles of her shoes—and the way his voice tickled and her body trembled.

What was Zee thinking? She hardly knew, could hardly guess. Rapidly, her fingers moved across the keys, typing out the first words that came to her head. She sent the message off without proofreading it. There was no time for editing, as the rain had lightened, the thunder had grown dim, and Zee approached the vehicle.


	8. The First Advice

008 – The First Advice

Ro faked a painful sinus headache to keep from going out that evening. But Zee went ahead and left for town. He said it was to find information on Dr Smart and the school, yet Ro couldn't help wondering if it was more to alleviate rankling restlessness. It certainly wouldn't be to get away from her. When he'd gone, Ro turned the light back on, the room having grown a little on the dark side, and brought the computer to her lap. She squirmed a bit to adjust the mound of pillows against the headboard, waiting for the wireless internet to connect.

On a Friday night, the chances of getting a reply from Bucky were greatly decreased. In the past, it seemed Bucky did very little on the internet on Friday nights, leaving Ro to believe he _did_ spend some of his time socialising away from the net.

She was surprised to see his name on her calling program. He contacted her straight away. Without Zee around, Ro felt comfortable enough talking about this with Bucky in video. If Zee had been around, she would've talked to him only through silent text.

'Ro?'

'Hey, Bucky.'

'Wow, don't we sound chipper on a Friday night.'

He smiled, a touch of rue in it. Ro liked him more the older he got. He would be fifteen in July, but he looked and behaved equal to her age. Amplified, perhaps, by always surrounding himself in atrocious lighting and having acquired some education on the human plight. Again, behind him, Ro could only see indistinct images, sources of light that might have been additional computers, and a thick black spot that was perhaps a shelf or a door. Bucky's face was thrown into relief only by the glow of the monitor in front of him. His chin had grown stronger, his eyes more defined, his nose shapelier. He sported a tougher image than two years ago, now having an earring and hair lengthy enough to be pulled into a ponytail. Hair, she realised, that was clearly longer than her own. She supposed he needed to toughen his image, being in the Tech Underground and doing acts Ro wouldn't spend time imagining.

'Yeah, well,' Ro shrugged, 'welcome to my world. Did you get my e-mail?'

'That spattering of words thrown together to form something that I wouldn't dare call a sentence? If that's the atrocity you mean, then yes, yes I did get it. What the hell is up with that, anyway? What's going on?'

'It's Zee,' she said with a sigh. 'He's getting—weird.'

'Weird? You're talking about the wicked wrench, yeah? He's Zee: he's _always_ been weird! I'm sorry you're now just realising this. Well, goodnight.'

She had no notion he was serious about leaving the conversation so short. 'Very glib, Bucks, but I'm serious. He's getting weirder than normal.'

'How?'

How? Ro didn't know what to say to this. It might've been easier to talk to a complete stranger about Zee than try and talk to Bucky. He knew them too well. Ro could feel her embarrassment burning her cheeks, and wished she'd turned the light off to be as hidden as Bucky.

He sensed hesitation. 'Look, Ro, not to sound ungrateful for your company or anything, but I've been waiting online for you to show up for the last three hours. My uncle's getting antsy, wants to get started on this raid thing we've been planning. It's not that I want to rush you or anything—you know that I would love to spend more time with you and Zee—but I can't. I'm here now because your e-mail had me crapping kittens. What in the name of all that's holy is going on? Is it bad? Is it something I can help you with? Is Zee losing his mind?'

No, Zee had mind enough. Ro wondered if she were losing hers instead. 'Bucky, I don't really know how to say this, but—'

'You don't have to get fancy. I don't expect you to start speaking like Dickens. Just say it.'

She winced and looked away from the relay camera, collecting her thoughts for a moment. 'Zee's been getting a little, uh—a little—physical.' She knew it was an inappropriate word as soon as it was out of her mouth.

'Physical?' he repeated, his voice arching to disbelief and seriousness. 'Forget my uncle, this sounds serious! What do you mean—and don't worry about getting explicit. Unless you can't because he's around.'

Ro told him what she'd done to be alone. Bucky whistled in shock.

'Well,' he raised his eyebrows and then plunged them downward. 'At least he's—at least you're alone for a minute. Tell me what's been happening.'

Not knowing where to start, she tried talking it out, to find that moment when Zee started looking at her differently. Bucky, unabashed by all this, though nonplussed, listened attentively, nodding at all the right pauses. Ro finally concluded that Zee had changed the day they were in Columbus. After getting Ro to talk about it a little more, Bucky read between the lines.

'This is interesting. I've always known Zee's one complaint to be that he doesn't get to indulge his five senses the way you or I do.'

'I've never heard him complain about that.'

He almost rolled his eyes. 'Ro, you're a seventeen-year-old girl, since when would you and your ilk ever notice the pain of another person?'

'Bucky! That's not fair!'

'Truth ain't fair!' Though he yelled it almost at the top of his lungs, there was no anger in him. There was exasperation and honesty. It pierced Ro. He smoothed back his hair and smeared the same hand over his face. 'It's just something that happens when we're teenagers, Ro. We're selfish little creatures, bless us.'

'I don't feel like a selfish creature,' she said quietly.

'Yeah, but—' he waved a hand, 'how are you reacting to all of this? Personally. It's all about how uncomfortable it makes _you_. How do you think Zee feels? Maybe work on your empathy a little. I know you two have been through the gauntlet ever since Knossos went under.'

'We have. I think we've been emotionally closer than we ever were. Is this just some form of grief?'

Bucky chuckled, in that warm, inviting way of his. 'Grief? Absolutely not. Boredom, I'd say. Zee's always tried to get me to make some software for him to better _feel_ what goes on in the world. Emotions—he can do that on his own. But the textile world, the wind and weight of the world—those things we take for granted—are the things that Zee wants to know most of all. It's only natural he should turn to you to find out those things. You're there. You're around. You're his best friend. He's your best friend. I'm just your periphery jester.'

'Bucky . . . no, you're not just that. Stop fishing for compliments and self-affirmation.'

'Counsellor, then. But do you understand what I'm telling you?'

'Not exactly.'

'I think you should go easy on Zee.'

'But he's—' She paused again, unable to continue. It seemed ludicrous to have this conversation, on such a subject, with someone like Bucky.

'He's what?'

'Invading my personal space.'

'Oh.'

Dead silence lingered for a short minute. Eventually, Bucky found a question. He asked it tentatively, almost as though he didn't want an answer.

'So he's—he's getting physical—with—with you?'

It seemed to take twenty seconds for him to get the words out. Once freed of them, he waited for a response. Ro watched him awkwardly.

'I think so,' she replied. 'You don't see the way he _looks_ at me, Bucky.'

'This—this is not what I was expecting.'

'You and me both!' She rubbed a palm into her forehead, wondering if lying about having a headache would bring on a real one. 'What am I supposed to do?'

'I don't know.'

Ro sensed him pulling away. 'Bucky, I didn't mean to—'

'It's not that,' he stated, glancing to his left, and Ro assumed the room he was in went on in that direction. Then he spoke articulate and rapid Spanish to someone Ro assumed was his uncle, a man off screen. Bucky returned, disappointed, frowning. 'I have to go. One of my cousins has come, and my uncle's getting too restless to cajole. So we'll have to talk about this some more another time. Let me think about it, okay? It's a lot to soak in.'

'Yeah, no kidding. Try living it.'

'Did you try talking to your brother about this?'

'Oh, there's a wholesome American conversation. Get real. Casey would be as clueless as I am.'

'Good point,' Bucky said, reflecting on the two times he'd met Casey Rowen MacCurdy, Ro's much-older sibling, a bit sterile and prudish around the edges.

'Well, thanks for listening, Bucks.'

'No worries. Are you guys still in Ohio?'

'Yeah. Will be for a couple days yet. Zee wants to check some things out.'

'Great. I'll give you a call as soon as I can.'

Ro closed up the computer, laid it on the table next to her, and listened to the hotel room's incessant stillness. A small part of the weight encumbering her over the last couple of days had lifted. It was nice to tell someone, even if it was Bucky, and even if he did think she was out of her mind. For once, she wished he was there, with them again, so he could see it with his own eyes. Ro thought back to what'd happened that day, the scene in the rain stabbing at her insides like a thousand searing knives. She wanted to be furious at Zee. She wanted to hate him for it. However, no matter the heights of anger, hating Zee was out of the question. Perhaps persuaded by Bucky's insights, Ro grew to pity Zee, and a stirring of sympathy whipped up unfamiliar sensations at the bottom of her heart's well.

All she knew, while falling asleep that night, was that she'd never think of thunderstorms the same again.


	9. Lessons From Patience

009 – Lessons From Patience

The next day came, dry and warm. Dust lingered along the kerbs of silent little streets, running off lazily into the cavities of the hillsides. Ro was awake before Zee came calling for her. She hadn't slept well through the night, sleep made unforgivably interrupted by countless, faded nightmares. Haggard and shredded as her appearance in the mirror was, Ro had the desire to go on as things always had. In the dull light of morning, before the sun had risen, her fears kept her awake for hours, fears of what might've happened if Bucky hadn't been around to supplant unease. Sunlight in the morning, its harsh rays deadened by a faraway haze that smocked the distant trees in grey and blue, had placated the final touches of apprehension. While she attained a face like the walking undead, standing in front of the mirror and pulling on her t-shirt, her spirits were improved.

And, anyway, if the day turned out to be uneventful, there was always the promise of a nap in the afternoon, during those torpid, droopy hours after lunch.

She headed towards the door out of the motel room, looping her belt around her waist, when her door came in on its own. Ro stepped back, momentarily surprised at Zee's arrival. He loitered in the open entryway.

'I heard you moving around.' He scanned her; Ro could tell when he was scanning her. 'You look absolutely ghastly. Didn't you sleep at all?'

'Off and on through the night. Is it too early to head to the university? I'd like to get this whole Dr Smart thing done with.' Mentally exhausted at the prospect of another dead end, Ro's arms dropped, demonstrating this. 'It'd be nice if we got more information. But what are the chances he'll actually know something we don't?'

'Slim, given our past record,' he said, following her into the morning.

Birds chirped in the gently swaying boughs, the forest running the sides of the motel's lot, with tulip trees dotting the front landscape. Sparrows hopped about among the branches, questioning their approach, ignoring them once they passed.

'Coffee first,' Ro said, hopping into the car. Zee joined her inside, the driver as usual. 'And then we'll go to the campus. I suppose I should've packed first.' She bit her lip in lively worry. 'In case he's a raving lunatic and immediately tries to turn us over to the feds.'

'Again, there's a slim chance of that happening.' Zee turned the car onto the main road, State Route 68, and headed north towards Yellow Springs. There were two coffee shops in town that would suit Ro's beverage requirements. Neither happened to be a Ground Wire, but Ro wasn't fond of their brew anyhow.

The car was a comforting, secure square to Ro. The short trip to town provided time enough to sit in Zee's presence, calculating the way it made her feel, and reminisce on the implications cultivated by Bucky the night before. Ro wanted to tell Zee she'd spoken with Bucky, just so Zee would know their friend was all right. But she didn't. Instead, she tried to engage Zee in conversation, asking him what he did through the night, if he'd finished that Dumas book, what he thought they'd do if they had to go running from Ohio. Banter with Zee let Ro study him for minutes together, unquestioned, unchallenged. He had a nice face, a friendly, honest face. It wasn't frank or horrid, ghastly or impure—it was a Zee face. Once, she'd asked him if he thought he'd ever be able to wear another hologram, be someone else for once instead of Zee Smith—and he looked at her and said he saw no reason to be. Zee was his avatar, his external self. It's who he saw shining back at him in rivers, streams, mirrors, that small reflective space in Ro's eyes. She watched his hands on the steering wheel, the way he held it, firm and controlling, and thought back to the times he'd held her hand like that, firm and controlling. Her mind slipped sideways, falling into the now unreal circumstance of yesterday's brilliant rainstorm, and the weight of him against her. Following the real impressions of the past came fruitless imaginings of what might have happened next, if she hadn't been so afraid to whimsically indulge his deprived senses. Being held by Zee had occurred many times before, usually when they were separated for some stressful amount of time then gloriously reunited, and Ro had never considered that he was unable to feel what he held, only knowing, through conceptual vision, that he held someone. To be held by Zee today may redefine the whole process. He'd be searching her for some sign of her shape in the pressure next to him. She wanted to be Ro to him, whenever he held her; she didn't want to be just another someone.

Ro was glad the morning went on and breakfast gradually ended. She hadn't eaten much, barely touched her coffee, and the two of them said fewer words to each other than they had in a long time, since the week following the demise of Knossos. The first one to reach the car when they left the café, Ro decided to drive to the campus. It was only about four city blocks away, but there was plenty of visitor parking available. Under the high cottonwoods, sycamores and maples, they followed the concrete paths, laden and speckled with seed pods of deciduous trees, lined occasionally by a yellow outpouring of wild daffodils, to the science building in the northwest corner of campus. It was a small building, as all of Antioch was done to a small scale, very old and distinguished-looking, fashioned of brick with limestone pillars at the front entrance. Lilac bushes, at the point of full bloom, rose on either side of the steps. In a little while, the area would be filled with their rich fragrance. For now, it smelled only of stone and earth—until the doors were opened. Ro realised it smelled as her old high school.

They found Dr Smart's office on the third storey, shared with two other science teachers. A large, corner room, drenched in south-west exposure, with a pretty prospect of the back of campus and a nearby copse. But the single professor at her desk had no other eye except for the computer in front of her. Ro quickly nudged Zee in the side. This he felt, if only vaguely, for he turned and saw what she indicated: Dr Smart's desk. His nameplate was fashioned to the front of it. Among piles of books and papers were all the other necessary utilitarian items: pencils, paperclips, a stapler, a printer, a cactus garden, a lamp. Dr Smart, however, was nowhere in sight.

'May I help you?' the other professor finally asked. She'd seen them gawking at Dr Smart's desk and thought them peculiar.

'We're looking for Dr Smart. Is he at class?' Zee posted the enquiry. He was often seen as more friendly than Ro.

'No, he's not, actually. He's on a freelance project right now. He won't be back to school until Monday. Did you want to speak to his substitute?'

'It's not important. I'll just wait for him to come back. Thank you for your help.' Zee, confused, went ahead and left the office, assuming Ro followed just behind. She did, but not after getting a closer look at Dr Smart's desk. She'd learned, by jutting in and out of businesses with Zee, that you can understand a lot by a man from the way he keeps his desk.

The news that Dr Smart wouldn't be back until Monday naturally dismayed the two of them. Ro, in step with Zee as they walked aimlessly through the village, suggested that they couldn't have expected any immediate gratification. After all, they had been living a rather idle existence lately, inventing time all on their own, ignoring the general rules of the world—and how could they expect that to change immediately? It seemed appropriate, to Ro, that they should meet with time playing with them, as they had been playing mercilessly with time—by ignoring it.

'Serves us right,' she concluded, 'we've been mean to it, and now it's getting back at us. Now we actually have to pay attention to it, every hour, until Monday comes around.'

Every minute, Zee thought, would feel like a prick of a pin to Ro. To Zee, whose patience were infinite, whose sense of time was not nearly as mentally consuming as Ro's, this stretch of two and a half days would seem as a moment, the closing of his eyes and the reopening of them. Time was not a concept that he would ever embrace as readily as Ro. It was an odd thing, the concept of time; invented by men and worn by them, as clothes, as seasons, and only ignored in idleness, indolence; only revered in pagan traditions and the tolling of sacring bells.

As the day dragged on, the hours of boredom merciless, Ro wondered how she would survive two and a half days of waiting. Zee inspired her to think as little about it as possible. Later, that same afternoon after visiting Dr Smart's office, they went on a long drive. They went far up into the north, got lost, then found their way south again—only to go farther south on Route 68 than they might have otherwise—and got lost for almost forty minutes. They drove along dirt roads, passing through sleepy villages nestled along the banks of rivers and creeks. They found odd country shops selling antiques and locally grown meats. They dived into a lush area southwest of Xenia, and found themselves among expansive houses whose charming names hung on wooden signs from post boxes, names like Midnight Meadowlark and Apple Blossom Horse Farm. Ro knew that they named plantation homes in the Deep South, where they had hardly spent any time—but to see this naming of homes in the countryside of Ohio was a pleasant, unexpected bit of enchantment.

That night, it was a visit to the cinema, and, afterward, Ro slipped into bed, exhausted. Zee stayed up most of the night, checking the online world for signs of their existence. If anyone in Yellow Springs recognised them as wanted fugitives, no word of it had yet popped up on certain internet sites. Bucky ran one message board about them, probably the most popular one, though no one knew it was Bucky who was administrator; he hid himself behind another name, and if anyone talked of him, he talked of himself in third person. The general perception of message board readers seemed to be that Zee and Ro were somewhere in the Midwest, or perhaps the South, as that geographic area had begun a summer permeation of tech conventions. This also led to the belief that Zee and Ro would soon return to California, in lieu that the American Society of Robotics Engineers was holding its prominent meeting and exposition in San Dimas. Lured by the thought of being around robotics scientists for three straight days in mid-July, Zee knew it would bore Ro to tears. And the thought of not being able to run into Dr Selig . . . It was too much. Zee posted a few messages, as himself, which titillated the followers, giving nothing away of his location, and putting up his ISP behind untraceable bands, to say that they were fine, and to comment on the coming San Dimas expo. With over nine hundred registered members on the message board, it was possible for Zee to sit there all night replying to messages; there was always someone online posting.

But he grew waylaid by the allure of night, and left the computer in favour of sitting on the kerb in front of his room, watching the stars in their slow turn as the earth moved, ever on and on, to dawn. Eventually, as four-thirty in the morning loomed, and a lively silver accessorised the eastern slope, he returned to his room and disengaged his hologram. He never recharged in it; using the hologram used more energy than active restoration of his energy levels. On the bed, which he'd taken to lately, his hatred of the flat plane all but vanished, he stared vacantly into the ceiling. Then, without thinking about it, he held up his hands in front of his lenses and scanned them with a critical eye. He thought them inutile, unable to tell him the things he wished to know so desperately, that desperation now a constant ache somewhere inside. But his skin was not skin, just metal plates bent and shaped, striped here and there with propylene fixtures, propylene joints, just as hard and impenetrable as titanium. At the beginning of this interest in textile sensations, he thought titanium and propylene were his biggest concerns: If he was hard on the outside, surely he'd feel nothing. He knew better now, after rigorous testing. Now he knew he'd have a better chance of feeling if he could allocate sensation into his hologram. Already, when in the light and element sheath, he had a general sense of weight and contour, shape and rigidity, temperature and texture, yet not to the extremity he so constantly wished for. If he could find some way to connect his holographic self with his software, he'd have a greater chance of understanding texture. He'd never know it for what it wasn't; he'd only ever know it as it existed. He'd never be able to close his eyes and not see what he was holding: on his internal display would be the calculated texture, presented as waves and temperature, and the balance of colour, saturation, light. Something like that would be better than guessing—better than never knowing at all.

Sunday proceeded much the same way as Saturday. The day-trippers headed west, having explored most of the east and south-east. They went as far as the Indiana state line, then headed back east and stopped to spend some money in the college town of Oxford. In a lot of ways, Oxford mimicked Yellow Springs, with a great emphasis on the younger populace, the teens and twenties; yet Yellow Springs claimed a broader perspective of lifestyle: people in Yellow Springs were what they were, who'd come to the little town from all walks of life. Ro rationalised that was why she liked it so much, because it was a town of outsiders joined together by their anomalies, fused into a complimentary existence. She didn't say it exactly like that, but Zee surmised it as such for his own personal records. Ro was not much of a philosopher, but she appreciated the artist's mind, the production of art for the sake of preserving the human spirit in an unlocked imagination.

When the evening hours came, they set off for the live theatre. The only cinema in town had just one screen, and Ro devalued the film they saw yesterday by stating it was hardly worth sitting through again. Luckily, Antioch College had a quality theatre department, and they were currently performing an original comedy written by one of the students. There was a matinee in the afternoon and a later evening performance. The latter, which Zee and Ro attended, was hardly full. Ro was glad for a little comedic distraction. Things had been rough on them lately. She'd always heard Mrs Hughes, Tiffany Morgan's grandmother, say that life was prone to throwing many lemons in one's face. Lemons there were. Loads of them. Bushels full. Ro didn't know how she retained use of her eyes, so disturbed and reddened by lemon juice as they were. After the show came another distraction: having to tell Zee what the play was about. They rarely saw live theatre, mostly because Ro disliked going, then having to explain it to poor Zee later. This night, however, he asked far fewer questions than normal. It never occurred to her that he was finally catching on to the subtleties of human nature. That was, in fact, close to the truth.

Ro lay stretched out on the bed in Zee's room. The pillow, squashed under her head, had a faint robotic scent to it, Zee's smell of ethereal ozone and earthly metal. She'd known for some time that he'd outgrown his fear of flat sleeping surfaces, but it still surprised her. Ro tried talking to him about it a little bit, what he felt about the room, the area, and received only uninvolved though intelligent replies. He thought the room beautiful and comfortable; the town was lovely and quaint; that he was pleased by it only because she was pleased by it. Had she found their situation irksome and uncomfortable, Ro would've made him leave. But she hadn't. She wondered why, her nose buried in the crisp white cotton linen, and came up with no satisfying answer.

'You should go to sleep,' Zee suggested, standing over her. Ro gave an indifferent gape to his knees, trying to imagine what they'd look like if they'd been real knees, not covered in the semblance of clothing.

'I'm not sleepy.'

He let his hand fall to her shoulder, his fingers bending at the appropriate curve. Ro didn't flip from him, but she wondered why he tried so often to touch her, and why the touch was different than it used to be. 'Not sleepy? That's a lie. Come on, I'll help you.'

Ro stumbled her way through the door that joined their rooms. Her bed had already been turned down, no doubt done by the ever meticulous Arlene, the motel chatelaine. After being practically the only guests at the motel, and staying longer than intended, the proprietors had become neighbourly and doting. There were even a few sprigs of fresh lavender and daisies next to Ro's bed, and Ro assumed that not every guest received the same treatment. She tumbled into the relaxing spot, feeling like a thousand cares flew, carefree, into the air with the dust. The clean sheets felt sensational against her legs, and she wiggled her toes in peaceful delight.

'Tomorrow, it'll be over,' Zee said, slipped the hems up to her chin and watch it flutter to a fall against her breast. 'We'll see Dr Smart and find out if he knows anything.'

'Don't worry, Zee; I'm sure he knows something important.'

'On Friday, your pessimism was stronger.'

She shrugged. 'That was Friday.'

'It wasn't so terrible, was it?'

'What?' She yawned again and reached for the light. Zee beat her to it. The room was flushed in darkness, and only Zee seemed illumed, as though he was made of moonlight and pearls and fireflies.

'The waiting.'

'No,' Ro eventually said, smiling slightly, hinting to a long wait that had nothing to do with Dr Smart, 'no, waiting wasn't so terrible.'


	10. Doctors, Assistants, and Wanderers

010 – Doctors, Assistants, and Wanderers

In the two and a half days spent waiting for Dr Smart's return, Zee had finely delineated the professor's schedule using the campus website. Zee had it planned out by the following morning. The day began as usual, but in place of the pink-yellow sunshine, there were tremulous silvery clouds about to burst, and the atmosphere was sultry and dense. Ro felt it close against her skin. It brought her shivers and made her recall, against her will, the fleeting days of youth spent in rainy Oregon. The clouds of Ohio hung strong and intensely, waiting for the right moment before opening their gates and allowing heaven to fall.

On the drive to campus, Zee explained, for the seventh time, what they would be doing when they met Dr Smart. 'If he dislikes us and wants to turn us over to the feds,' he started, hands holding tightly to the steering wheel, 'then we'll flee.'

Ro snickered and folded her arms, face turned to the rolled-down window. 'Flee like we've never fled before!'

Zee gave her a look, suggesting the moment was not appropriate for comedy. But he touched her knee reassuringly, all the same— His hand jerked away as Ro's knee twitched. _Sorry_, he wanted to say—but the word wouldn't come. It was stuck somewhere between one of his three processors, immobile, useless. _Sorry, sorry, sorry_.

'Anyway,' Ro tugged at the hem of her shorts, trying to get rid of the tingling trail of Zee's fingertips momentarily embedded into her pores, 'what happens if he doesn't turn us over to the feds?'

'Then we'll find out about Eli Selig.' He tightened his fingers over the wheel, compelled by the apprehension that they were about to meet someone who'd known Selig—Selig as himself as well as a scientist. Someone who may know what Selig thought of his last completed Infiltration Unit.

Ro hinged her neck back to the fresh air of the window, the car halting at a traffic light. Next to her was the county library branch for Yellow Springs, with old houses to her left, all unique and of architectural interest. So many houses she'd seen in suburbs were now all the same, identical down to the landscaping. She liked Yellow Springs for maintaining its magical small-town feel, for daring to be different. There were a hundred little things that made Ro believe they'd found the one place that might accept them, as renegades, heroes, revolutionaries. Funny to find it in an Ohio town that was nothing much at all. It was compelling, beyond all of Ro's wisdom, to compare the style of the village to what she knew of Selig. He was similar to them, Zee and her, in a lot of ways—a revolutionary at least—a man of unparalleled vision.

The campus was active that day, with more cars in the visitor parking section. Feeling like seasoned veterans to the school, they made their way, taking a shorter route past the administration building, into the science building, and up to the third story. If Zee's calculations of Dr Smart's schedule were correct, the professor would be sitting at his desk.

Zee opened the door for himself and Ro, already looking up to the right desk—he filed past two exiting students—Ro shimmying out of their way—and finally got a look at the lamp, the chair—a bushy head of curly grey-black hair. Zee halted, obtruding Ro's path. She bumped into him and, apprehensive, grabbed his hand in hers. He squeezed till she squeezed in return. 'Go on,' she whispered. 'Talk to him.' She gave Zee a shove against the small of his back, and he stumbled forward. His steps were noisy enough to gather Dr Smart's attention away from the computer monitor—

Dr Smart sprang from his seat, stare openly targeting Zee.

Zee stared right back. Ro glanced between the two men, wishing one of them would say something before she did.

Dr Smart's whitened eyebrows bunched in the middle, and he ripped off his glasses in one dramatic sweep of a still-sinewy arm. Ro bit her lips, fixing Sam Smart's features with the unknown face in the holographic image Zee had stolen the day they met. Short, stocky, hairy, with little neck but a thick middle, salt-and-pepper curls winding all the way around his head, and watery blue-green eyes—Ro knew it was one of the additional Zeta Project scientists. One that they hadn't ever bothered to learn the name of. Ro glanced conscientiously at the name plate on the professor's desk. Dr Samuel Smart. In scanning him again, Ro befit the name with the man. It was nice to have a name to go with the face.

His shoulders pulled upright, Zee held himself tall, proud, trying to show no shame for who he was, what he was doing. It took audacity, courage, and a touch of stupidity to do what he was doing. 'Dr Smart? Samuel Smart?'

Ro's stomach rolled in nerves, waiting for the professor's response. She felt giddy when he spoke, at last, a great sentence of unimagined profundity.

'Mr Smith,' Smart stuck out his hand for Zee to shake, 'I've been waiting for you—such a very long time.'

Zee, cautious, aware, held Smart's hand briefly. 'Waiting—' he put on a speculative face, 'for me?'

'And Ro.' Smart turned to the blonde and shook her hand briefly as well, her fingers limp with worry and shock. 'It's nice to finally meet both of you. I'd invite you to sit down, but I was just about to take my lunch break. Care to join me? It won't be anything fancy, just a bite or two of my wife's egg salad down in the teacher's lounge.' He glanced between them. 'It'll give us a chance to talk—without being overheard.'

The lounge was empty, stuffed with old sofas and chairs and a skinned, nicked dinning room table. Smart prepared his meal, taking it from the refrigerator, along with a diet cola, and sat himself down. Zee and Ro hovered in the background, fearful—and he couldn't blame them.

'Is it any use to ask you two to sit down?'

Ro's mouth twitched at Zee, a sign of complacency. Zee sat across from Sam Smart, Ro on Zee's left. The clock above the hand washing sink ticked optimistically, while the whirl of the refrigerator brought restful white noise to the silent brick room. Smart smeared egg salad on toasted bread of some weird, unusual texture.

He noticed Ro looking at it peculiarly and explained. 'It's gluten-free bread. I'm allergic to wheat products. Bit annoying, really. I'm also getting diabetic in my old age. Are you thirsty? There's plenty of soda—I'm sure—'

'I'm fine,' Ro said.

Smart was eyeing Zee. 'And you don't eat.'

'Not today,' Zee said, almost as though it was a threat. It brought a chuckle of friendly warmth from Dr Smart. 'How did you recognise us?'

'For the same reason you're here,' Smart said, chewing, then swallowing. 'I am Eli's oldest known friend. I wondered exactly how long it would take for you to find me. How long has it been? Two years? Almost two and a half? Not bad. Not bad at all. Naturally, you wouldn't be here if Selig were alive. I'd be useless to you after him.'

The tingling in her palms spoke of a massive truth exploding over them. 'So—Selig is really dead?'

'No idea,' Sam Smart shook his head as he answered. 'No idea at all. But that doesn't mean I didn't know about you. I knew.'

'You were on the same team that created me,' Zee averred.

'Only for two weeks. I was his assistant. He wanted to do something else to you, something that wasn't supposed to be done—and I covered for him while he worked it out.'

'The chip—' Zee could hardly get the words out; once again, words were pathetic and pictures of the past wanted to speak for him. 'The chip inside my head. You know about it.'

Tense silence followed. The clock ticked. The refrigerator whirred.

Smart pushed the sandwich away, suddenly having no appetite. He'd been preparing for this day for two years, Selig had warned him all that time ago, but now that it was upon him, it seemed impossible to believe. Nevertheless, he had an obligation to fulfil. Lifted from the chair, he gave the two of them a gesture to stay put.

'I'll be right back.' He paused at Ro's worried look to Zee. 'I wouldn't dream of calling the NSA on you. I'll explain why as soon as I come back.'

As soon as he'd gone, Ro's hand dived for Zee's. He held to her firmly.

'My hands are sweaty,' she said.

He turned her palm over and examined it, seeing the speckles of released water sparkling on the surface. 'I wouldn't know.'

'What do you think of him?'

Once his fingers were laced between hers, he answered quietly. 'I'm glad we came.'

It wasn't much of a response, not the kind Ro had been hoping for, but Smart returned then to the lounge, carrying a manila envelope bulging at all sides, grossly thrown from its proportions, and much worn at the seams. Smart reclaimed his seat and set the envelope in the centre of the table between them.

'Take it,' Smart said. 'It's yours, Zeta. Or is it true that you prefer Zee?'

Zee threw his eyes upon Smart, his head tilted over as he controlled the angle of the envelope towards him. He didn't answer.

'I'd like you to call me Sam. Most people do. Even my students. I'm the old nutty professor around here—and I kind of like it that way. Been teaching here since the late twenties. Sixteen years. Only leave came when I went to help our mutual friend. Now I kind of wish I hadn't. But you can't say no to old friends, can you?'

Zee pulled the object from the envelope and laid it on the battered paper. It was small, predominately titanium, with green chips and beige nanowafers below the top disk. In a runnel along the top disk were a hundred or more metal blades that Ro supposed must be some sort of fanning device. She bent nearer to it but saw nothing familiar in its shape. But there was no mistaking that it was a piece of hardware, and probably worth more than the whole town.

'What is it?' Ro watched Zee's eyes intensify, his hand against the mechanism. He looked at it the way he'd lately been looking at her, with a diffident sort of affection, a fearful rustle of love.

His hand dropped. 'It's an holographic emitter.'

'That thing—?' Ro couldn't believe it. 'But it's so—awkward-looking. Looks more like something that'd be in our car's engine.'

Smart chortled in that warm way of his that trickled down her throat like a hot drink. He was in the chair, still, amused, with his hands clasped behind his head. 'You're used to seeing the little portable things that are so bountiful these days, Ro. Do you mind if I call you Ro? Oh, good. Well, this is the same premise, but on a much bigger scale.' He could tell she didn't exactly follow, and it felt good to prattle, alleviating the tension, stalling the story. 'Well, it's sort of like having a chocolate cake for dessert, isn't it? But instead of having just a tiny sliver of the cake, you're getting the entire cake.'

Ro blinked, finally ripping her gawk from Dr Smart. The holographic emitter, at least seven inches long and with a circumference just greater than the length, was an intimidating piece of hardware. She'd never known Zee had anything like that inside of him. Something so ugly created a beautiful image that glowed in almost unearthly light. She suddenly grasped what Dr Smart had brought out in an analogy. 'This is an industrial strength holographic emitter.'

'Yes,' nodded Smart. 'Very industrial. And extremely strong.'

Zee set his hand on it again, unable to imagine it was his. 'How powerful is it?'

Smart continued his casual manner. Ro almost believed it was genuine. He was a strange man wanting aloof emotions but unable to obtain it completely. 'Its base solidity is probably no greater than the one you have now. I'm unsure of its specs, of course, but once you have it installed, no doubt you'll learn all about it.'

In a struggle between affinity and uncertainty, Zee rose his gaze to Dr Smart and held it fiercely. 'Greater than the one I have now? Base solidity I'm not concerned about. But I would like better attribution software.'

'Of course you would. I think you'll find it to your liking.'

'And now here comes the part where you tell us how you got it,' Ro started. This friendliness grated on her nerves. 'People don't just have industrial strength holographic emitters laying about their living rooms collecting dust.'

Sam Smart thought her amusing, a real wit, but it was hardly the time to say so. Instead, he took a turn about the lounge and stopped in front of the window. He watched the lambent maples swaying in the wind, remembering the ocean waves rocking back and forth as he was piloted to Knossos a little over three years ago. He sighed and angled towards them slightly, just enough to give the impression that what he said was in confidence, only for them.

'You never came back, Zeta,' Smart began, voice that of a lamenting man, 'after your last infiltration—you never came back. That holographic emitter was to have been yours. It was supposed to be installed when you returned from the infiltration of Eugene Dolan. But that's when it all started—isn't it? Every tale has a beginning, I suppose. And you most of all . . . Myths often do.'

Myths. Zee hadn't thought about it for a long time, that he was a myth—a hero created from the demise of good and the rise of evil in the world. And he hadn't thought, for an even longer time, of the one strange being that had helped shape and define his destiny. The man he'd met months and months before Ro stumbled into his life.

Smart continued his indifferent stare on the trees. 'You only know him as Dr Eli Selig. Funny to think of him that way, now that he's old and dead and gone, a remarkable being of the past. Because I knew him only as Iggy, really. That's what we called him, me and the others we knew at school. Iggy, as I knew him, when we were kids, had this incorruptible fascination with heroes, you see. All he could think about was finding a way to create the perfect hero. That's how we got into robotics. We used to put together remote controlled robots from spare parts we found at yard sales and antique stores. Great mind, Iggy had. Seemed to think that the only way to create a hero was to make one. When he was in his thirties, oh—about thirty-six, I'd say—he fell in with the government, pitching ideas to the Armed Forces, to the Department of Defence. But war heroes weren't being created at the time. Back then, it seemed the race for space had been curiously ignited, after being all but extinguished for a good twenty, thirty years. Iggy had no place for his metallic myths.'

Sam Smart paused long enough to reclaim his chair, sitting in it backwards, with his forearms against its back. Still focused solely on the images of the past, he barely noticed the two-member audience.

'But Iggy was convinced that he could do it right, if he obtained the proper financial backing. And who better to do that than the government? It was all taxpayers' money, anyway, or borrowed from another country. Iggy didn't care where the money came from, how it was acquired, so long as he was given a savvy lab and some loyal workers at his side. He finally got it—and I didn't see him again for many years. He came to me one day, both of us old men with our best years behind us. He wanted my help with something. I said I wasn't qualified to work next to him. Naturally, he told me that was rubbish, stroked my ego a bit, till I gave in. Gave the wife a peck on the cheek, gave my son and daughter a hug, said I'd be back in a couple of weeks, then I stormed off to Never-never Land, like Peter Pan, into Iggy's world. A marvellous world. And you were there,' he finally regarded Zeta, as though seeing him for the first time, 'different than you are now. Metal and microchips, wires and weapons. You were supposed to be Iggy's fundamental dream of a hero brought to life. Pygmalion with his sculpture of Galatea.

'And, though it seems unbelievable now—I would never have admitted it two years ago, but my life is shortened by the keeping of secrets—Iggy told me what he planned to do. He was always ready and willing to bend the rules a little. He told me about the microchip. Is it still in your head?'

Zee nodded slowly.

'Ah,' Sam Smart acknowledged this with a drop of his eyes, 'thought it might be. I tried to tell him it was treason, going against the principles of the government, but he believed in the truth as he saw it. He knew you could be whomever you wanted to be. And it was just a matter of finding a way to bring you from your coma, to shock you out of the programming. I didn't think it would work—and I was terrified. But intrigued. Very, very intrigued. I had to stick around—just to see how it ended.

'Not that I was surprised about the Brother's Day attack in August. He'd phoned me before that, just a little bit before, and told me his assistant Donoso was raving on about security breaches and the imminence of a terrorist group doing something dreadful. Suppose he should've listened to her for once. He never did listen to her much. He'd only built and programmed Donoso to be his walking, talking date book, his personal organiser that ran his life because he was too involved in his work to notice that he had a life. I've no doubt Donoso was a part of his everyday existence, and she helped him in many ways—but he would've done better to listen to her once in a while. He never did,' Smart repeated this solemnly, 'never did—not when she was talking to him about her own independent thoughts. She wasn't his hero, you see. I think that's why he—I don't know—couldn't be bothered.'

Sam indicated the holographic emitter on the table. 'She sent me that. Two weeks after Knossos, that shows up on my desk, sent parcel post from Cupertino, California—no return address, just a postmark. I open it and that's what was inside. Oh, I know what you're thinking: How did I know it was sent to me by Andrea Donoso? She contacted me later, wanted me to know that she was continuing with Dr Selig's work as best she could, when her diligence was not obstructed by the NSA. So one can suppose that she means to continue working on synthoids, the way Iggy did. One can also suppose that she means to find a way for you to be free, Zeta—if she can manage it.'

His head hanging in thought, Zee remained pensive. The story was raw and real, and painted the picture of a Selig Zee hadn't the chance to know. An absent-minded man who fantasised about creating the perfect hero but paid no attention to death threats and terrorists, almost to the point of fully embracing his own mortality.

An unsettled Ro crossed her arms, managing to get words out through clenched teeth. 'Told you that, did she? That she'd work on getting Zee's freedom?

A heady silenced pierced the air after she'd closed her mouth. Rubbing a spot below his lip, Dr Smart eyed her in a vacant, nonsensical manner, weighing and measuring the accuracy of this question, whether or not she meant it to have an answer. But it was not Dr Smart that spoke next; it was Zee.

'You have a way,' the synthoid began, feeling more and more robotic as the conversation continued, 'of communicating with Andrea Donoso?'

Smart approved of this question. 'She is in contact with me, yes. I cannot contact her, but she can contact me. It was done because she believed you would find me. Her intuition into your future movements across this country is more accurate than the National Security Agency—at present.'

The possibility of speaking with Andrea Donoso excited Ro. A quiver beneath her sternum stirred in wonder. 'When was the last time you were contacted by her?'

'A month ago.'

The response came from him in quiet monotone. Ro wondered if he was afraid to speak of her, that someone might overhear—that Andrea Donoso herself feared for Dr Smart's speaking of her. Anticipating more from him, Ro waited, and was rewarded.

'She wished for me tell you two something.'

Even Zee's gaze lifted, startled by the implications of such a sentence. Ro, however, wasn't prepared; she wavered a bit when he spoke.

'Stay here—stay here and she'll be in touch. She swears it to you. But you have to stay here. There'd be no other way to guarantee finding you, if you're wandering around the country again. To stay here, I realise the risks involved. But I wouldn't ask if you if I thought it wasn't worth it. Neither would Andrea Donoso. We wouldn't ask you to do this if we thought you might be captured. At the very least—consider it. If you come up with a decision by this evening, you may tell me then. Otherwise, I will wait.'

Ro and Zee couldn't help but look at each other. The young woman tried desperately to calculate Zee's thoughts, but it was impossible: he was impassive and hidden. Ro exuded the same amount of worry as usual, and she tucked her hands between her knees to keep Zee from noticing how they trembled.

Zee rose an eyebrow at Dr Smart. 'This evening?'

'Forgot to mention that, didn't I? So sorry,' he shook his head, with a sad smirk, 'I seem to have a lot on my mind. You're invited to dinner at my house tonight. Since I've come back from my trip it'll be something of a grand event. My son and daughter and their significant others will be there, and I'm sure they and my wife would love to meet you.'

Ro shoved her knees together, the muscles in her legs contracting and expanding as adrenaline poured through her veins. 'Dinner? At your house?'

'Yes,' Smart nodded to indicate the honesty of this request. 'Just a humble, modest little meal, that's all. Good for you, Miss Rowen, since I'm sure you survive on takeaway and candy bars. Shall we say six-thirty? We usually eat around seven, and the extra half-hour will give you time to become acquainted with my family. Very casual,' he stated again, since Ro appeared apprehensive and fearful, 'and it'd be nice for you two to know someone in town—if you choose to stay. Six-thirty, then?'

Dumbly, Ro nodded, glad to see, out the corner of her eye, that speechlessness had a hold on Zee, too.

• º •

Please review! Concrit welcome!


	11. The Best Interest

011 — The Best Interest

For eighty minutes, Ro and Zee pounded the pavement of Main Street, beneath a ploughed, cleared sky, discussing possibilities. Ro did much of the talking, much of the speculation; Zee curtailed worries and brought sense to Ro's receptivity. Reaching the point where her feet began to ache in the arch, she forcefully turned to Zee, just to get it over with.

'You want to stay.'

From her it was a sharp, guileful statement. Zee was at a loss, unsure if she harboured resentment towards his inclination to stay, or if she was merely beguiled by the ease of his decision.

'You _do_ want to stay.'

Now her hesitation came into play.

'Are you mad? We—we can't stay.'

They were on a side street, heading again for the campus, and passed through a patch of sunshine under an emerald canopy of fat catalpa leaves. A pleat of fabric at his elbow was grabbed as Ro pulled him aside. A cyclist he hadn't seen swept by them. A rustle of wind brought a weak leaf from the catalpa tree, and it fell lazily into Zee's palm. He clasped his hand around it, then spun it back and forth by the stem, between utilitarian phalanges.

'We have _every_ option in the world available to us, Ro,' Zee said, knowing that he was defending his belief, however staunchly, against an obdurate Ro Rowen. 'The NSA has not tracked us since passing through Iowa—nine weeks ago. And, more than likely, Dr Selig is dead. And here we have found one person in the world who knew him as he was—and one person in the world who is in contact with the last living—if you'll forgive the word when applied to a machine—friend that Selig gathered into his confidence. Am I mad? Perhaps. Until the NSA shows itself, or until Selig is somehow revived from the realm of Tartarus, then I will go on being mad.'

Ro stayed silent for a moment, listening to their steps on the concrete, rather in awe of Zee's conviction. Then, with a wince of speculation, looked up at him. 'Tartarus?'

He almost laughed. In camaraderie, he set an arm around her shoulders, and found pleasure that she didn't pull away. 'The farthest area of Hades, in Greek mythology. You don't really think it's madness to stay here, do you?'

She found no immediate answer. Instead, she waited until they reached the Audi. 'What if it's all a trick?'

He answered with the engine purring. 'What if it is? What would we lose?'

Ro snorted and buckled her safety belt. 'You don't really want me to _list_ things out, I assume.'

'Ro. Well, think of it this way: If it is a trap—what would Dr Smart and Andrea Donoso gain from it? There's no reward for them if we're captured. And if I'm accurately reading Dr Smart's unsaid allusions, then neither he nor Andrea has had much to do with the NSA lately, and this disaffection is appreciated.'

'I'd believe that for Dr Smart. He'd seem the type to want to get as far away from the Department of Defence as possible. But Andrea Donoso? I don't know, Zee. If she's continuing the work Selig started—how do you know she isn't getting her funding from the NSA?'

'We don't know, Ro, whether she is or isn't. You can ask her that when she contacts us.'

'I suppose she could be getting some private funding, if the NSA's not interested in pursuing bio-mechanical, self-regenerating synthoids.' In the attempt to make it sound like she actually believed this, Ro wondered if it were closer to the truth. 'I don't understand how the NSA would continue funding for something like that. I mean, they lost _all_ of that work. All of the prototypes, anyway—not to mention the security of having it done on a place like Knossos. If Andrea Donoso really is continuing with Selig's work, I hope she's doing it somewhere very secret. I'd hate for Brother's Day to attack again.'

'They won't. Part of your speculation must be true. The NSA knows what Donoso is doing. Remember: I've read it in her personnel file. But as to the funding—I would have to access the NSA databases to find out that information. And if any part of the NSA computer systems is difficult to access, it's the files dealing with the allocation of finances. If we're going to stay here, no risks will be taken to compromise our location.'

'Good. And, anyway, you can probably find out from Donoso herself. If, you know, we do stay here and aren't immediately captured.'

They'd returned to the motel just as they came full-circle with their conversation. Zee sat in the driver's seat of the car for a minute, thoughtful, and threw a glance at the envelope on Ro's lap. The path of his mind was easy for Ro to calculate.

'Are you going to install this thing before we go to Dr Smart's for dinner?'

He shook his head in the negative, resisting the urge to comment on Ro's acceptance of Dr Smart's invitation. 'No, I won't. Something may go wrong, and I could be without a hologram for several hours.'

'Yeah, I wouldn't want to show up at the good doctor's house with you in your skivvies.' She left the package in Zee's hands and dived into her room, as if afraid of some verbal retaliation on his part.

Zee stared at the holographic emitter once he was back in the room. It winked at him from the corner of the bed, in the way inanimate objects mock. Legs folded beneath him, Zee picked it up in his hands and turned it about, internally measuring its attributes to the unit locked inside a dorsal cavity. The new emitter was a fraction of an inch smaller, but the system of total concealment significantly more powerful. Zee let his data cord into the serial port of the unit, and connected to its independent core processor. Quickly but expertly, he rendered the image of a hand. It came from the top of the new emitter, the tiny, thin slices of metal that Ro had thought of as a fan then rotated and bent to manipulate light into colour. The hand started as translucent, without the typical flare of teal and green that Zee's hologram was so prone to flashing whenever he changed. None of that was in this new unit—it had a flawless transition, an absolute morphing ability. When the hand turned solid, Zee gaped at it in amazement. Then, using his unattached palm, reached for the fingers and gathered them between his own. He didn't know why he was surprised to find it 95 solid. Dr Smart had said it was stronger than Zee's current model—but fifteen percent stronger Zee hadn't anticipated.

The hand vanished, being sucked back into the rotating and bending metal slips. The data cord returned to his wrist. Zee lay on the bed, head supported by a conveniently placed pillow. For a while, he fished through the files he'd acquired from disembodied Knossos computers, wondering if there was any use to this exercise. He'd gone through them over the last two days, while anticipating Dr Smart's return, and had found little in the way of usefulness.

It occurred to Zee then, when he flung open his eyes, that Dr Smart had almost answered the question Zee had meant to ask him.

The question of whether or not Dr Selig ever knew that his especial Infiltration Unit turned out to be the hero of legend so long desired by a little boy, grown into a man, from a small Ohio town.

A splash of daylight came across his form. He angled his head to the door and saw Ro there, in a cute A-line dress of baby blue, and a sheer floral shirt over it, with her favourite tan sandals on her feet.

'I'm ready to go,' she said. 'What have you been doing? Just sitting here?' The holographic emitter, conspicuous and galling, was on the bed next to Zee. 'Playing with your new toy?'

'I was—a little.' He made no effort to get to his feet, and rested his hands against his stomach, staring flatly into the ceiling.

'Dinner, Zee. Six-thirty. Did you forget in the big excitement of doing nothing for the last two hours?'

He hadn't realised two hours had already passed. Rarely did he pay attention to the internal clock on his display, most of the time it was off completely. He rolled from the mattress and smoothed out the wrinkles he'd made in the coverlet. The sandals made Ro a little taller than normal height, thanks to a thick two-inch heel. She smirked at him, hand on a hip, and shook her head.

'What?' he asked.

'I just thought you'd—change your clothes. In a manner of speaking.'

Nothing was wrong with his wardrobe. He tried to point this out to Ro. 'It's the same clothes I always have on—'

'Yeah,' she emphatically agreed. 'Yeah—the same clothes you _always_ have on.'

Silence declared his bewilderment. Ro elucidated.

'Look, Zee, I haven't made up my mind about this yet. I don't know if it's really in our best interest to stay until we hear from Andrea. But if we do—and I'm not saying we will—but if we do stay here, you're going to have to hide who you are from these people, from this town. Which means you're going to have to change your wardrobe about as often as I do, if you want these people to think you're something other than a hobo. See the point?'

'I do.' And, without further ado, Ro blinked against the aquamarine glare, then opened them on a couture Zee. She liked his everyday wardrobe, of lavender shirt and coal-grey trousers, with or without the long violet-blue coat, but she enjoyed variety.

'Everything match?' The sides of the khaki trousers were held out at his thighs, and he observed his RGB-rendering skills. He'd hate not to match, to find that he'd accidentally put on bright pink socks when he'd meant them to be beige.

'Splendidly. Gosh, I didn't even have to help you pick that outfit.'

'It's okay, then? I don't think we've ever been to a—a dinner party. Is that the right term?'

'Sounds about right. And no, I don't think we have.'

She stepped to him to make a couple final arrangements of his appearance. The sleeves of his Oxford shirt, in a buttercup colour, were buttoned tightly at his wrists. She undid the buttons and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, giving him a casual air. It was a dinner party, after all, not a business meeting. Then she tousled the front forelocks, in the trend of men those days to wear their hair as messy and as gravity-defying as possible. The shoulder seams were straightened and smoothed, and she made sure all the buttons down the front were in the right holes. He stepped back and away abruptly.

'What?' Ro speculated on why he'd suddenly walked away from her. 'Did I tickle you or something?'

'No—no.' He headed for the door and opened it. 'I just think we'd better go. After you.'

Unsure what she'd done, but unable to press the issue, Ro paraded out the door, passing him. On instinct, to test the waters, she held out her hand and brushed them to the place where ribs would be, then twiddled her fingers at his navel. He recoiled immediately, jumping about three inches back. Ro didn't stop to ask him why. In a way, she was beginning to understand. It wasn't because he'd grown ticklish overnight. It was she that repulsed him. Her touch was poison.


	12. Lessons From New Friends

012 — Lessons From New Friends

Ro left the Audi and gaped openly at the Smarts' house. In the backyard, behind a spiraea bush and a border of hostas, two dogs barked at the newcomers. Ro swallowed and followed Zee up the concrete stairs to the green front door. A decorative spring-themed wreath welcomed them. Zee's knock seemed to go unanswered forever. But the door pulled away and a young man's face was there. He opened the screen and let them inside, adding much gusto into his warm tones.

'You're Zee and Ro, right? Good of you to come. Dad's been worried you wouldn't. I'm Nat—Nathanial, but everyone calls me Nat. Come on inside, come on. Get _down_, Brandis! Down!'

Brandis was apparently the name of the mutt dog that had arrived to sniff the new arrivals. He had a long, pointed nose like a shepherd and a stubby tail like a schnauzer, but that is where the resemblance to any other breed ended. Multi-hued like a collie, in tan, russet, black, he fit in well with the surroundings, for the Smart house was all lived-in furniture and comfortable clutter. Brandis put his wet nose against Ro again and again, until finally hauled away by a woman in her sixties, undoubtedly the missus of the house. Dr Smart appeared from the back, from what Ro later determined to be the kitchen, and begged forgiveness for the antics of Brandis. He went on a tired explanation of why Brandis wasn't in the backyard with their other two dogs, about how he'd been given medicine lately and had to be sequestered . . . Eventually, Dr Smart threw up his hands, exasperated at the whole notion of being a caregiver to three dogs, and asked his guests to sit down while he fetched Ro a beverage. But Nat said he would get the beverages, and ran off to do so. Mrs Smart returned, letting her eyes roll as she related goading Brandis into the basement with a deluge of dog treats. Then she shook Ro's hand warmly, doing the same for Zee.

'I'm Orla Smart,' she said, a smile with endless kindness in it. 'Sam says you two are acquainted with a former co-worker of his. In fact,' she glanced at her husband, then to Ro and Zee, 'with old Iggy, if I'm not mistaken.'

Ro said she was correct, but that they only knew him as Dr Selig. Ro typically wanted to giggle at the mere idea of Dr Eli Selig being called 'Iggy', a nickname she supposed derived from the 'ig' in Selig. But perhaps Iggy had a hipper, more modern, less geeky sound than Eli. She could imagine a younger Selig being called Iggy much easier than imagining that he'd once answered strictly to Eli.

A lithe young woman appeared from the narrow hallway off the living room, and stopped to be introduced by Orla. 'This is Darien, Nat's fiancée.'

'Hi,' Darien said, taking their hands. 'I'm very glad to meet you. Sam said you were thinking about moving here for a little while. I hope you do. It is a nice town. Some might think it's conservative, but it isn't at all, really. The people here just know what they want and they do what they can to get it.'

Orla continued to beam. 'Nat says this place attracts misfits.' She laughed. 'I guess it does.'

Nat returned a moment later, with a cola in a glass of ice and cherries for Ro. Funnily enough, he brought Zee a beer, and left it on a coaster on the cocktail table. None of the three present, knowing of Zee's eating habits, bothered to say anything. Ro wished again that Zee had some way to eat. He'd done a lot of improvements to himself over the last two years, but he hadn't been able to find a way to eat. Not for the first time, definitely not for the last, Ro thought some of the designs of Infiltration Units ridiculous. How was Zee supposed to accurately portray a human, above suspicion, when he couldn't eat a Philly cheese steak sandwich or popcorn at the cinema?

Darien sat for a while, with Ro asking about her wedding, its date, how big it was, which kept Darien in badinage. Ro didn't particularly care about girly stuff like the style and hue of a bridesmaid's dress, but she did care about locking wariness away from Zee. She wouldn't have anyone leering at him, his peculiar habits and his inability to clearly grasp the idioms and axioms prevalent in American culture. When the screen door opened anew, Ro was relieved of her duty for a moment, and could observe rather than hide.

Entering the house was Dr Smart's daughter, a woman perhaps a touch older than Nat, with a cascade of wavy dark brown hair, a long face, lengthy legs, and sunglasses on her brow. Behind her came another woman, with wild blonde hair highlighted in punky pink, in a black sundress and a hand-knitted maroon shawl, black boots up to her knees. Ro was struck dumb for a second, unnerved at the sight of someone, a stranger walking into her life, whom she resembled so closely, in hair and eye colour, and all round facial features. She recovered from this numbness superbly, but glanced significantly at Zee, to see if he'd noticed. He didn't appear to, but Ro thought, for a phase of a cloud moving across the sun, that the young woman had.

'Oh, good, Dad's friends came,' the daughter said. She kissed her mum and dad on the cheeks, as did the second woman. 'I'm Aubrey Smart, the older and wittier—not to mention prettier—of the Smart progeny.' She shook their hands with a firm grip, then set aside her voluminous rattan bag on the floor next to the armchair. When the second woman came over, Aubrey tugged at the maroon wrap's sleeve. 'This is my girlfriend Colette.'

'Hi!' Cheerful and fascinated by them, Colette grasped their hands with both of hers, as though it wasn't enough just to shake their hands: she wanted to _hug_ their hands. She looked steady at Ro, a sense of recognition sweeping between them, undeclared by words. 'I'm just so glad to meet you. Sam said you might be staying in town for a while. That'd be nice. Aubrey and I would love to take you out sometime if you do. We have our own haunts—and we can tell you which are the best places to eat—'

'If you don't grow too fond of my mom's cooking, that is,' threw in Aubrey. 'Mom, what _are_ you cooking? God, it smells amazing in here.'

Zee struggled to sniff the air, and find some of this delicious odour. There was a scent vaguely onion and garlic, and a weaker whiff of chicken charring on a grill on the back deck.

'The usual spring time feast, I guess,' Orla announced, modest in the same manner as Dr Smart. 'Potato salad, one half with dill, one half without, because I know Colette likes it without dill—'

'You didn't have to do that, Orla!' whispered Colette, embarrassed to be treated so. Orla waved a dismissive hand at her.

'Phoo! Let's see, what else . . . Nat's got chicken on the grill, and a couple of hamburgers. Some homemade applesauce left over from last summer, I've no idea how good it'll be, but we'll give it a try. Sam loves it, anyway, and this is supposed to be _his_ feast. Oh! And all sorts of pickles from Aunt Mona.'

Aubrey's eyes circled upward at this announcement. 'More rejects from her attempts to find a fair-winning recipe?'

Colette giggled, and Ro found it contagious and giggled too.

'That must be why she dropped off two full crates of them last week,' murmured Orla. 'I keep trying to tell Sam the woman is crazy, but he just won't listen to reason.'

'Well, if he won't listen to reason, maybe twenty pounds of pickles will spell it out for him,' Nat said, entering the room with tongs pinched in his hands, bits of charred chicken stuck on its end. 'Hey, Aubrey.'

'Yo, bro.' Aubrey patted him on the arm. She pulled out a small, flat square from a spot next to her on the chair, and handed it to him. 'A bit of something for your upcoming nuptials.'

'We put it together in a hurry,' Colette said. 'Sorry if it's all—not good.'

Darien was next to Nat as he unwrapped the little artefact. From where she was sitting, Ro determined it to be a jump drive—or 'jumper'. Darien looked up at her future sister-in-law.

'What's on it?'

'The home videos and photos we called your mother and blackmailed—I mean asked—for,' Aubrey said, simpering her way through the hint of naughtiness. 'And lots of a younger and much thinner Nat.'

'Thought it'd be good to play at the reception,' said Colette, enthusiastic about the idea. 'Something in the background, you know, on one of those big projection screens. For when the guests are arriving. You can't expect to entertain all the guests yourself, Nat, even though I know you have enough jokes to attempt it.'

'Hey, Colette, don't encourage him,' said Aubrey.

'Yes,' agreed Darien, smirking, 'please _don't_ encourage him.'

'Bah!' Nat put the jumper down and kissed Colette on the cheek. 'Thanks for the thought, sis. You do realise people are going to throw things at the screen once my ugly mug's up there, yeah?'

'The thought occurred to me once or twice. I think we'll risk it.'

'Or you could just bolt down everything on the table,' added Ro, aware of her own nerve at speaking so to people she had just met. Prized with a couple of chuckles, Ro thought these people the salt of the earth. Everyone acted as they had before, as though Zee and Ro were not there, but, identically, pulled them into the conversation by making eye contact accompanied by an overall sense of hospitality. While on the road, Ro and Zee had met many "Mary and Josephs", as they came to call ordinary strangers that were not in the NSA or attached to Selig in some way—but members of the Smart family were nowhere near the same predictable class of Mary and Josephs.

Ro relaxed a little after her remark. She snuggled into the soft, squishy cushions, listening to the conversation and occasionally making a comment. She wished Zee wouldn't be so quiet, but Nat found a way to inveigle the reticent man into conversation. Nat stole him away from the "cursèd womenfolk" and took him to the deck. And there, in Nat and Sam's company, Ro could only wonder what they talked about. She didn't worry about it, as sitting with the women was mind absorbing in its own right. Ro learned their individual trades: Darien did managerial work for a local company; Nat fixed up rental units; Colette owned her own specialty store in the heart of town; and Aubrey was a freelance graphic designer who usually was too busy helping Colette run the shop to work on any kind of art.

Aubrey's chocolate eyes took in Ro. 'What sort of work do you do, Ro? I realise you're probably unemployed right now, unless you're a freelancer. But what would you do—if you stayed?'

'I don't know,' Ro answered honestly, feeling her cheeks go hot. 'I'll give it some thought and get back to you.'

'Good idea,' said Colette. 'We know lots of people in and around town. I'm sure we could find something for you. Where are you two staying?'

Ro told them, and Colette was pleased while Aubrey tried hiding a scowl. 'You two can't stay there forever,' she said, much pleasanter in voice than face.

Ro had no plans to stay anywhere forever, yet the secret stayed within. It could hardly be discussed, that painful wanderlust that had always consumed her, deep from the inside. 'Well, Zee and I haven't really made any final plans yet. We might still wake up tomorrow morning and leave. You never know with us.'

'It's good to embrace freedom,' Orla Smart noted, smiling delightedly so that her small eyes were as little half moons in a rosaceous sky.

'Freedom,' the weary word repeated itself automatically, and Ro looked at her hands, 'yeah, it's great.'

She was relieved when Nat sauntered in, still carrying the tongs, donned in a gingham apron with 'Kiss The Grillmaster' printed on its front. 'Ladies! Chow's on!' he called, and waited to be sure all had heard him. With his stentorian wail, hearing him was hardly difficult.

Ro's spirits picked up considerably when she made it to the backyard. The two other dogs, who'd barked at her while she stood, an apprehensive stranger, in the driveway forty minutes ago, greeted her with flapping tongues and sniffs plenty. Ro found out their names were Cassidy and Carney, sister and brother from the same litter of pups four years back. Zee, not overly fond of dogs, found these two spaniels tolerable, though kept a distance from them as often as possible. In turn, Ro, too pained by what she'd thought of while leaving the motel room, kept her distance from Zee. But the absence of commenting to him about the night began to wear her, ever so slightly, and she gave in after finishing her chicken, and stood in front of him.

'Everything okay?' She felt like he ought to be the one asking her. His stoic expression failed to charm Ro's desultory spirit. 'You don't look as anxious to stay as you did this afternoon.'

'If I appear apprehensive at all,' he started, 'it's for your sake, not mine.' Zee resumed his pleasant face, regarding Ro, the way the trailing tails of a dimming sun changed the hue of her hair, and how the scent of lilacs on the caressing breeze seemed to make her wild and fey, as a dryad of old. Again, he was struck by a unique fascination with her, looking at her as he might a painting. Nature, a magnificent brush in her hand, painted white-gold highlights in Ro's tresses, touched her lips with rare shades of pink and red, her eyes in atmospheric blue. 'But you seem to be enjoying this dinner party—in spite of yourself. And you like them.'

'They're funny,' she kept her voice low as she said it, though Nat had the majority harnessed in a story he was telling about work buddies, unlikely to overhear.

Zee frowned, his mouth tightening a little as it did when anxious. Ro resisted the urge to pinch his chin and tell him to lighten up. Three days ago, she would've committed such a gesture without questioning it; now it was too full of innuendo and emotional confusion. She wished he'd stand in the shade, not in full sun, like some fiery spring crocus. His hologram took on an otherworldly sheen, blurring his edges and sharpening his colour. The deep blue eyes, so steady in observation, were now whisked to an inhuman shade. Zee was meant only to stand in shadows, in twilight, at sunrise—never in the harsh light of day. The thought brought Ro a glimpse of unselfish sadness. Regardless of her misgivings, she gave him a reassuring pat on his chest before walking away.

Zee watched her return inside, to the kitchen table, lit with an overhead lamp, and refill her plate with both kinds of potato salad. The image was one he wanted to remember. Ro didn't look any more beautiful than usual, but it was the environment that made her inner magic all the more alluring. Ro, having run with him as long as they'd known each other, deserved the chance to stand in Mrs Smart's kitchen and help herself to homemade potato salad, just like anyone else in the world. What he'd said was true, that he knew apprehension only by worrying _for_ her. The reason he wanted to stay hadn't much to do with Andrea Donoso; it was really about Ro Rowen, potato salad, garden parties, and the scent of budding lilacs in a fitful evening wind.


	13. Lessons From Sense

013 — Lessons From Sense

They stayed at the Smarts' until fifteen minutes past eleven. And, even when they'd gone, life remained in the party. Dr Smart and Orla had disappeared to bed, exhausted. The back patio remained active and talkative for another hour, with laughter and felicity so often absent from Ro and Zee's past. But when Ro began to droop, and let out her first yawn, Zee insisted on departure. Nat, the host in his father's place, showed them out, and a wave of farewells swept over them from Aubrey, Colette, and Darien. Ro remembered to thank their host only when Zee did. Once inside the car Zee heard Nat say they'd be in touch. The rest of the night passed as nights often do for Zee: long and seeped with unprecedented calculations as to their overall welfare and happiness, all the while Ro slept away fatigue. He'd tried to tell her that tomorrow she'd wake up a whole year older, to which Ro mumbled something incoherent and slipped over to her opposite side, asleep almost immediately.

At the first silvery plume on the eastern horizon, hidden behind an empiric sylvan line, Zee left for the wilderness behind the motel. For a while, he followed a narrow footpath, traipsing around slowly and listening to the birds, watching the flora enrich its fecundity, and the fauna, in the form of squirrels, scamper away to high treetops and vainly twitch their plumose tails. He had been away twenty minutes when the sun ripened the tops of the trees in the pinkish-yellow glow that indicated a beautiful day had just begun. The woods came to an oval clearing, armed only by a single, old tree—a yew tree. Its gallant branches spiked mercy over the decaying tops of ancient headstones. Bent at the knees, Zee read some of the names—all the same surname, all from late in the nineteenth century to the early twentieth—and knew it to be an ancient family plot, probably of a farming family. Immobile in the cruelty and avarice of death, a snapping twig captured his attention. In a second he spotted the source: a lone buck moved from the woods and cautiously entered the clearing. Mesmerized by the appearance of so graceful a creature, on such a morning, Zee held still and observed. He felt like a spy regarding something too beautiful and sacred for him to behold. The buck noticed him, as an out-of-place shape among the wilds. Zee did not move his eyes away; he held his gaze on that of the buck. Animals, he'd learned, even from Cassidy and Carney, the Smarts' dogs met the night before, always look a person in the eye. How do they know to do this? He'd asked Ro about it once, and she said it had something to do with a person's soul being in the eyes, and Zee later termed it 'the spark of humanity'. Then he went on, ever befuddled by the concept, and asked Ro if dogs have souls. She didn't know how to answer at first, but later said that most people thought so, yet the credos of almost all basic religions thought the idea blasphemous—only humans were allowed to have souls, a fact based on the Holy Trinity. And that train led Zee on a wild chase of misunderstanding, looking into the Holy Trinity himself, the study culminating in a disbelief in it, for he couldn't fathom how a spirit could have a soul while someone's favoured pet could not. . . Cassidy and Carney looked straight at Zee's eyes like they did any other human present—as did the brown buck.

Zee hadn't thought of it until right then, had thought very little to actually possessing some semblance of a soul himself. He tried asking the buck if it was there, somewhere hidden inside. But the buck steered down his long neck, nibbled at the grass then stepped on, the king of the woods. Zee let his hands fall to the tall weeds and crab grass cloaking the patriarch's grave and felt his fingers tighten into the soft earth, repelling the drops of dew. Though the buck had gone, his hooves marking an almost silent trail through the thicket, Zee felt a thousand eyes on him. After throwing around glances, and seeing nothing, no one, he rose hastily and returned to the broken path he'd made. Still, he felt eyes on him. Hideous, reproachful gazes of five hundred soulless men, reaching out from the beyond to take him away, to punish him for wanting to belong so badly to a material plane, for making Ro believe in him absolutely. . . .

He stumbled his way out of the woods and immediately bee-lined for the sanctity of his room. Around the corner, at a jutting arbutus, Zee froze. On the kerb directly in front of his room sat a young man with lightened brown hair pulled back into a springy ponytail, donned in a calf-length green canvas coat. His chin was in an upturned palm, and he had his eyes closed. Gathering fortitude, Zee's steps resumed, void of caution and the feeling he was being watched. When his feet skidded across the sabulous cement, the kid awoke from the doze with a start. Now standing, the kid held Zee's gaze for a lasting moment, and a warm, somewhat sad smirk touched his finely-formed mouth. Their gladness burst open, resulting in a tight hug and a gleeful set of chuckles. They broke apart, Bucky still holding to Zee's forearms, almost fearful of letting go, to find he'd be swept away.

'I—' Bucky started explaining, but Zee lifted a silencing hand. Instead of going into his room, right next to Ro's, he led Bucky into the cosy front lobby. The chatelaine would still be in the kitchens preparing breakfast with her small staff, and the lobby was empty. A coffee pot stood ready on a side table, and Bucky helped himself to some, drinking it black. Comfortable in the oversized seating, Bucky folded his legs beneath him and started again.

'It took me all night to get here.'

'I figured,' Zee said. 'I'm overwhelmed to see you. It's a pleasant surprise. But—why did you come?'

Bucky had to stretch the truth. He'd really come to talk to Zee about the things Ro had sprung upon him Friday. 'Ro's birthday. I mean—eighteen. God, did you ever think, ever really stop and think, that she'd ever live so long? Some days I wondered. And I wonder if I'll reach eighteen.'

'Of course you will. You have as much determination as Ro—perhaps more in some areas of your life. I haven't talked to you so it must be Ro who's told you where we are.'

'I talked to her Friday,' Bucky said with a nod. 'You were out. She didn't mention her birthday or anything—it never came up. Figuring you guys were still here, I managed to smuggle myself into the state, as you're witnessing the results of my effort. Any big plans for the day?'

'We were out late last night. I'm sure Ro will want to sleep in for a while.' Zee explained, all he could, about Dr Smart, Andrea Donoso, and the two scientists' request for the renegades to remain in town indefinitely. Bucky had only a soft laugh in response. Mustering brevity, Zee told of the dinner party, of Dr Smart's engaging family, even the dogs. Bucky liked the sound of the Smarts but displayed more caution than care in his advice to Zee. That was when Zee entreated Bucky to his room and pointed out the holographic emitter, still sitting on the edge of the bed, unmoved from yesterday.

Bucky lifted it, weighing it, and turned it around in his hands. 'Does it work?'

'Yes. I tested it. Its base solidity is ninety-five percent. And its transition from one hologram to the next is almost completely seamless. The improvement over my own basic model is incalculable.'

'Imagine that. Why won't you use it?'

'Something could go wrong at installation.'

'Something can go wrong with you just standing there, too, Zee,' Bucky philosophised.

Zee examined the ceiling as though he expected it to fall on him.

'Do you want me to help you install it?'

'Would you?'

'I know a thing or two about your schematics, Zee—much more than anyone else willing to help you out. And you said Ro wouldn't be up for a while. With this thing,' he held it again in his hands, his watery chestnut eyes affixed, 'you can stand in the sunshine and feel its warmth, you can stand in the wind and feel its power, you can stand in the ocean and feel its eternity.'

Zee was quiet for a moment, sullen, leaded by possibility. 'I'd . . . I'd considered that.'

Bucky arched a brow. 'You'd like that, wouldn't you? To become more elemental, material, textile.' Finally, he felt like the time had come to let out a thread of Ro's confession. 'Ro told me about the fascinations you've acquired lately.'

'Ro knows?'

'You don't give her enough credit, Zee. She's been in your company practically every day—every hour—for the last thirty months! That's long enough for a percipient girl like Ro Rowen to fathom changes in her best friend. Trust me on this. She _knows_.'

'What did she say?' Zee plopped to the edge of the bed, unsure of his feelings, whether it might be described as panic or annoyance. Or, more than likely, it was a combination. 'Was she bothered?'

'Bothered? Not exactly.' Bucky gave Zee the emitter and pulled up a chair from the little table beside the window. Angled to face Zee, their knees touching in closeness, Bucky did one final sweeping gesture over his hair. 'Take off your hologram. Let's get this touchy-feely party started.' Bucky winced and rubbed his eyes as the brightness of Zee's emitter brightened up the room like lightning in a hurricane. 'Ah, dammit! Right in my eyes! How is Ro not blind yet?'

In his skeletal titanium frame Zee removed a panel from his back and set it carefully aside. It was easiest for Bucky to work while Zee lay on his stomach vertically on the bed. But Bucky, curious and philanthropic about his two closest friends, tried to keep Zee talkative during the fitting.

'Not to sound blunt and tactless or anything—I'd hate to be a throwback to the brat I used to be—but what exactly is your fascination with Ro? She wouldn't talk about it much. She only knew you were gaping at her an awful lot lately. Is it just a general interest—or are you staring openly at her breasts? I should warn you that women really hate that. Really, they do. I think I still have some scars to prove it.'

Zee remembered instantaneously the painting he'd seen in the Columbus art gallery, and how his awe of the world sprang from its inspirations. He related this to Bucky, speaking carefully, his words chosen in proportion to his orating ability. Listening intently to this story he'd heard from Ro, now in Zee's perspective, Bucky worked diligently on removing the small wires connected to the internal emitter. Almost ready to extract it, Bucky gave a little shake of his head.

'Ro isn't a painting, Zee. She's, you know, alive.'

'I know. All I've wanted to do, ever since that day, is feel her, the flesh and bone of her. Is that normal?'

Bucky lifted a shoulder and grunted. 'Sounds frustrating. Because you can't. Feel her, I mean.'

'It's more than that, more than the shape and warmth of her. It's more a desire to know her, find out what it is that illuminates her from the inside to the outside.'

'Well, I'm betting it's not her holographic emitter. Maybe it's her legs. Never seen nicer legs on a woman, ever—and I've been privy some really fine women, Zee.'

Zee imitated a pale laugh. He felt another wire plucked from his back. The sensitivity to his emitter had been shut down, otherwise his system would be screaming malfunctions at him. 'That's not really what you think, though, is it?'

'No,' Bucky answered flatly. 'No, it isn't. Zee, I don't know anything about a synthoid's apparent carnal appetites, but you're not acting that much differently than I would—than any person would—when attracted to someone.' Bucky leaned away, blinking. 'All right, let's get this thing out of you. Ready?'

Zee looked into the carpet below the table. He heard a crunch, a scrape of metal against metal, then quiet. The removed emitter took place next to the new. Bucky quickly compared the two, saw the new emitter's improvements, then lifted it into his cupping hands. Carefully, slowly, he lowered the mechanism into the dorsal cavity. The serial port slipped into place and locked.

'Now comes the hard part.' Bucky pulled sunglasses from the pocket of his coat and put them over his eyes. He borrowed Zee's internal soldering gun, changed the tip size to the smallest available, and went about soldering the wires into place on seven emitter chips and one neurowafer. Several tiny sparks flew up but died almost immediately, overwhelmed by the air.

'Doing okay?' enquired Bucky, unable to see Zee's expressionless pate.

'Yes, thank you.'

'Good. Almost done. So what are you going to do—about Ro?'

'I don't know. Will it pass?'

'No idea. It may. Do you want it to?'

'Meaning?'

'Meaning . . . not sure . . . What if she has the same curiosity towards you? Then what?'

Bucky wasn't convinced he was leading Zee into false, foolish hope, suggesting that Ro might feel the same. She'd never expressed it to Bucky, but she'd never told him otherwise. That left plenty of open space for opportunity. And if Zee acted, Ro not feeling the same way, at least Zee would know. Ro and Zee's friendship transcended everything; it had survivability. Bucky didn't worry the two would ever be apart by choice.

The sunglasses were removed and the soldering gun returned to Zee. The synthoid lifted his chest to put the gun away, then restored the panel to the six-inch gaping hole in his lower back.

'How am I supposed to know what Ro thinks or feels?'

'Well, here's a radical idea: Ask her!'

'I can't,' Zee said, standing.

'Then get inventive. Find a way. Manipulate her, if you must. You two have been together too long to suddenly find out that you're incompatible, and fly off your separate ways.'

'That isn't likely.' If Zee had any foresight at all, about the days after tomorrow, it never included having Ro leave him because they found their friendship suddenly discordant. He rose his inutile hands again, then found Bucky in the dim of the room. 'Does this seem strange to you?'

'If you mean to ask whether I thought we'd ever have this conversation, that answer might surprise you: yes. I knew you'd want to know about explicit love sooner or later. I just thought you'd find out from Ro. She'd explain it a little more bluntly than I ever could. Maybe not well—what does she know of love?—but, hell, at least she'd tell you.'

'I tried asking her once about the heart. But that was a long time ago.'

'How long ago?'

'Almost immediately after we met.'

'Zee, she's eighteen.'

The synthoid marked him with a white, unblinking gaze. 'What does age have to do with this?'

'Ro matures.'

'She looks exactly the same as when we met.'

'I won't tell her you said that—she's very sensitive about the size of her chest, in case you haven't noticed. And I don't mean physical maturity—I'm talking about mental maturity. Love changes, it evolves, as people get older, learn more about life, and have more opportunities to explore love. I know this because I've gone through the same thing. When you met me, I didn't care about anyone but myself. Now I care more about my uncle and cousins, you and Ro, even Casey MacCurdy to a certain extent, than I ever could about myself. Love not only changes in perception and philosophy, but it changes whoever it resides in. And, sooner or later, you're going to have to trust yourself, and trust someone else too.'

Bucky said this all very vehemently, passionately, but void of the drama of impetuous youth. His often humorous gaze was now filled by an elite earnestness. Zee had to believe him. There was no other option while staring so into a galaxy of certainty. Bucky inhaled, aware of what he'd said, having never spoken so openly with anyone before, yet remained unembarrassed. He put the chair back and stood before his friend.

'Ready?'

'I just might be.'

Bucky removed himself one yard from Zee in the off chance a small explosion occurred. In less than a second the normal shape of Zee Smith was in the synthoid's place. There'd been no flash of teal, no static sound, no whirring, nothing but a timid grey-white mist, as the core of a pearl might look. Bucky swerved past Zee and held open the room's door. He bowed and gestured, like a servant, and felt the wind rush by as Zee escaped to the raw elements.

Zee noticed a change instantly. The morning mist had gone, leaving the density of humidity behind. And he could _feel_ the oppressiveness of the humidity as he waded across the parking lot. There he waited, for whatever magical knowledge would soon come to him, and held out his hands to receive it from the invisible deities of the earth, light, and air. Smiling and laughing to himself, Zee gave his face over to the rising sun and let it warm him as a blessing.

Overjoyed at the sight, Bucky banged a shoulder, as a rap, on Ro's door. She appeared a second later, groggy, half-asleep. Hair swathed across her eyes, she hardly noticed it was Bucky. Upon this realisation, she was startled.

'Bucky! What—?'

'Ro! Come out! Come out and see! It's extraordinary!'

Ro let herself be tugged, careful of her bare feet across the cool cement. By Bucky's will, Ro halted at the end of the kerb. He was pointing to Zee's figure thirty feet ahead, nearer the silent road, his back to them. The image was hardly striking awe into a sleepy Ro. She didn't understand why she'd been dragged out of the haven of her room for this.

'I'm going back to bed,' she grumbled, already pivoting for the welcome darkness of her room. Predictably, Bucky gripped her arm and held tightly.

'Zee!' Bucky hollered, indicating Ro's presence with a vigorous gesture.

Ro had her arms crossed and yawned. She flung open unwilling eyes hearing Zee's galloping feet. Ro reacted to Zee's enthusiastic embrace with a glottal 'Whoomp!' She was spun in circles, three of them, in the centre of the parking lot, her hands grasping Zee's shoulders, afraid he might let go. 'Zee, what are you doing? Put me down!' She pounded a fist against the top of his head, a useless gesture. He seemed to strengthen his hold in response. 'If you don't let go, at least stop spinning—I think I might be sick.' The request was granted with reluctance. Ro slipped to the ground, sure of it by the pebbles beneath her toes. She looked into his eyes with a thousand questions to ask, none verbalised. 'You weren't so excited on my seventeenth birthday! So what's—'

'I—I forgot,' he stammered, and really had forgotten in the uprising of such gloriousness. 'Your birthday.' Her shining cheeks, brightened pink by the spinning, tempted his caresses. The softness of her skin was always as he'd imagined, perhaps even better. 'Happy birthday.'

Ro's brow wrinkled. 'Thanks.'

Bucky came to them, first glancing at Zee, then Ro. 'We installed that stylish new emitter this morning. Clearly it must be working.'

'The new emitter?' Astounded, Ro seized Zee's wrist and held it before her. His palm was smooth and warm beneath her fingertips. His fingers twitched in reaction to her touch. 'You can feel this.' She suddenly dropped her hand, replaying last night's unfavourable conclusion, still thinking she was poison to him. 'You came all the way out here just to help a hunk of hardware install a yet another hunk of hardware?'

Bucky's hands were pinned up defensively. 'No, completely unrelated, I swear! I wanted to celebrate your birthday with you two. And, anyway, it's been months since we were together. But I'm leaving tonight. Yeah, don't look so chagrined, you're breaking my heart. I have this thing I need to do early tomorrow night with the Fringe. Sorry I can't stay. What do you have planned? It's your day, Ro, and I say all the plans should fall to you, while Zee and I merely execute and escort. How about it?'

'A very gentlemanly offer,' she said, patting him on the arm as she retreated into her room. 'I'll have to think about it.'

Then the door shut. Bucky stared at Zee.

'That didn't go very well. Maybe she wasn't happy to see me.'

'No, I'm sure she is happy to see you, Bucky. There's no ungratefulness in her.'

Bucky snorted. But, after analysing her reaction to him, she did seem outwardly pleased, with a fair twinkle in her eyes. Bucky amused her. 'Must be that she's not a fan of birthdays.'

'It's more likely she's thinking of whether or not we should stay. She'll have to come to a decision, and I won't be making this choice entirely on my own.'

Knowing that Ro had never faced a challenge like the present one, Bucky refrained from commenting. Perhaps she had thought about it once, years and years back, when she'd first run away. She had the choice now of no longer running, of staying put, and seeing what happens when one stands still. But, as Zee so adequately deduced, it was their decision; Bucky knew he had no right to voice his opinion, however welcome it may be to a stressed Ro Rowen.

'Well, back into your room, then. We'll watch mindless syndicated television shows until Ro decides she wants our amicable company.'

Bucky let the door close behind them while Zee busied himself for a moment opening the drapes. Zee was captive to nature, his gaze out the window and into the distant treetops. It struck Bucky then, with an accurate empathy, of what it must be like to finally feel, to be made of the earth and finally know what that meant.

'How was it?' the kid asked. He removed his coat and threw it recklessly into the chair. 'The wind and all that—everything you'd imagined?'

Zee blinked slowly, recapturing that experience. 'Better.'

'And Ro?'

'Like a goddess of all the elements combined. Pure. Inviolable. And probably beyond all other meagre words. Ineluctable like the hands of time.' He pretended to draw in a breath, as men do when perplexed. 'One thing confuses me.'

'Really, just the one?'

'How droll. I had supposed my software to be incompatible with the new emitter, but it does not seem to be.'

'You thought you'd have to update your allocation software. Ah-ha, I see. Guess not.'

'Why?'

'You did say that Dr Selig meant for you to have that emitter not too long after you went renegade. Perhaps your software updated before, after one of your last missions. But without the fancy hardware you never knew the difference.'

'That is most likely, yes.'

They discussed life, a broad range of topics, for the next hour and forty minutes. Bucky openly spoke of his life in the Tech Underground, the strange business he did with his uncle and three cousins, to the strange places he'd lived, to the oddity of finding Zee and Ro still in Ohio. He'd never thought that the three of them should meet again, not under such an amiable circumstance, let alone within the perimeters of a state so mocked for its backwardness, its being a legitimate 'vertebrae in the backbone of America', its rednecks, hicks, and failing collegiate and professional sports teams.

When Ro appeared, attired for the day in a long white and pink sundress with a smocked bodice, her hair down and loose, she tried to give Bucky's opinion of Ohio a chance of re-evaluation.

They took him to the haunted house and the covered bridge, and he begrudged the objects a simple beauty, but did not see that they were purely Ohio, and so his opinion remained. They whisked him away, and by mid-afternoon had gotten lost amid the fresh farm fields to the east and south of Yellow Springs. Ro tapped their chauffeur once on his shoulder, Zee taking masked pleasure in the feel of her fingertips, and pulled the car to the side of the two-lane road. Bucky did not require goading to view the sight before him. He stood with Ro, linking their elbows, tightening their hands together. Zee came beside Ro, and Ro slinked her fingers between his. The three of them stood, hand in hand, companions forever, and soaked in the view of a little hilltop. Below them, in rich yellows and greens of endless dales, far into the misty knolls, stretched a glebe of blossoming sunflowers.

Bucky squeezed Ro's hand, brought up to his mouth, and kissed the top of it, in sport of gratitude. 'You win,' he said, debasing himself with a sly smirk. 'I'll never make fun of this damn state again.' He turned back to the sunny glow, certain it wasn't just a vision he'd dreamed of once, brought to time by a cunning fairy's ruse. But it wasn't. 'Just don't make a habit of proving me wrong. It's murder on the ego.'


	14. The Second Advice

A/N: Happy weekend, everybody! Here are the last two chapters!

014 — The Second Advice

In the late afternoon they returned to Yellow Springs. Bucky's curiosity about the place was no longer stagnant but mellow bursting on keen. He tolerated being shown Antioch, Dr Smart's office indicated from the stories beneath an arched window. And he enjoyed the brief drive by the Smarts' home; Cassidy and Carney were behind the fence, silent as the car sidled on. In the town proper, with its artistic shops, bookstores, eateries, and cafes, Ro ushered Bucky and Zee into Madcap's Magics and Crafts. A heart-shaped face, with wide light blue eyes looked up from the computer at the queue area.

'Cooee! You came in! Oh, I'm so glad!' Colette cried. She tumbled from behind the counter and embraced her friends, halting at Bucky.

'This is our friend, Bucky Buenaventura,' Zee explained. 'Bucky, this is Colette Ransley, proprietor of this shop.'

'Pleased to meet you,' Bucky said. He'd heard about Colette from Zee's telling of last night's garden party. The synthoid had left out details, and Bucky had those filled in immediately.

Colette forgot about shaking his proffered hand, hugging him instead, throwing her short, pale arms around his bronzed neck. Bucky smiled at this affection, analysing her again as he pulled away. She resembled Ro, in some angle and shape of her features, and was nearly the same height as Ro, slightly on the more voluptuous side. If Ro had thought about it, she would've been envious of Colette's almost matronly curves and full bosom.

'You do look like Ro,' he commented quickly, glancing at his friend. Ro took no offence to this notion. 'Twin daughters of different mothers.'

Colette and Ro looked at one another. Colette giggled. 'That's a nice thought, but I'm much older than Ro. Are you from this area?'

'Far, far away.'

'Second star to the right—all that?'

'Ha, more or less. Third star, though. I popped into town on the tails of a comet for Ro's birthday.'

'Your birthday!' Colette became animated at the news, and hugged Ro for a second time. 'You should've said something! We could've gone out—had some fun! Still can, if you want! The shop closes at five—I can call Aubrey and Nat and Darien and a bunch of our friends. And you can meet my brother! He's coming into town later. We can all meet at the grill. Oh, please! We'll have such a good time!'

Smitten by the enthusiasm of such an undertaking, Ro found resistance to the plan impossible. While she and her friends looked around the shop, Colette phoned all she could think of that might be interested in going. In fifteen minutes, she had a sizeable party of nine guests. Always the planner, Colette called ahead to the grill and reserved a table. They huddled around her when she made the announcement. Then, holding Bucky's gaze, she tilted a shoulder coyly into her chin.

'Did your friends tell you they were thinking of staying here for a while?'

'They mentioned it,' Bucky said, feigning perplexity with a wrinkled brow.

'Don't you think they should?'

He took a moment, considering. He rubbed his chin. 'Not that my opinion matters, but—yes, I think they should. It would be in their best interest.' In many ways it was in their best interest, but instinct told him that Colette, lively as she was, didn't know the extent of Zee and Ro's complicated life. If Zee and Ro stayed maybe Colette would become a confidante. That, too, was out of his control. 'When's dinner, then? I'm starving. We skipped lunch to take in some of your Ohio's more natural sights.'

'Not until five-thirty,' Colette chortled. 'And it won't be till after six before dinner is served. You can go over to the ice cream shop and have dessert before your meal. Unless you saw something you'd like to buy.'

Which, as it turned out, Bucky did: a set of blue agate bookends he said his uncle would enjoy. As he brought no luggage with him, he paid for the items and had them sent, via international parcel post, to an address in Mexico. Ro tried playing inquisitor, to inveigle information from him, yet he remained unwilling to share. Ro tugged rather harshly at his ponytail in retaliation, threatening to chop it off while he slept.

They spent a good forty minutes in the ice cream shop, part of that time trying to make up their minds. After gorging on sweets they slipped in and out of countless shops until it was time to head back to Madcap's Magics and Crafts. Colette waited for them, then locked up once they were inside. Aubrey Smart had come, introduced to Bucky, and more speculative, intuitive, about his character than Colette. Aubrey, one came to realise, had the stare capable of making the person on its end feel naked and exposed. Bucky had experienced identical censure occasionally under Ro's insipid blue saucers, and he was unable to give Aubrey the pleasure of estimating his character in that quiet, intrusive way. Aubrey Smart hardly took the caustic vibe personally, already aware of her ability to belittle.

Two additional familiar faces awaited them at the grill catty-cornered from Colette's shop: Nat and Darien, already at the procured table, greeted Bucky in the same friendly manner they'd befriended Zee and Ro with the previous night. Soon after other guests arrived for this impromptu meeting to celebrate Ro's birthday. A well dressed young man hidden behind a cascade of golden hair, the same build as Colette, but stretched in height and shoulder width, kissed his sister on the cheek and laid before the birthday girl a bundle of purple and yellow iris. He gave his name as Jack Ransley, twenty-one years and sufficiently matured mentally. Jack was no stranger to the gathered, though he sat beside his sister, for want of visiting with her during fleeting moments than anything. Ro learned later that they spent little time together; Jack was in Cincinnati for university, and rarely returned to his hometown. Nine was to be the stable number of the party but two additional members joined, two friends of Darien's named Tim and Alexia. They happened to choose that place to eat for the night and spotted Darien as the host meant to take them to a nearby table. With ten members, all jovial and ready to laugh, Ro felt she had the best birthday of recent memory.

An hour into the party, Ro and two of the other women did as all women do in groups. Once in the restroom, Colette talked about how proud she was of herself for putting all of this together, and chattering on about how happy Ro looked, pleased that her new friend could have such a lovely 'turning of the hourglass', to borrow directly from Colette. In the mirror, Colette examined her face in the poor lighting, droopy strands of pink amid her lightened gold tresses teased to the epitome of expression, quiet for once while listening to Alexia's comments on the fineness of the cuisine. Ro emerged from the stall, thinking nothing at all, when she rose her gaze to her reflection in the mirror— She gasped—

Alexia and Colette spun to her. Ro, momentarily frozen, peeled brave eyes back to the mirror— Nothing but herself, Alexia, and Colette were there.

'I just thought I—I saw something,' said Ro dismissively. 'Never mind. Let's go.'

But when Colette and Alexia walked ahead, silently speculating on Ro's exhaustion, Ro lingered three steps behind. She stared into the empty restroom, waiting for a suspicion to be fulfilled. All that answered was an unsettling, wavy feeling in the bottom of her stomach. She panicked, quieted her wandering imagination, and returned to the table. Her night was spoiled. A sickness cloyed the air. At first, Ro thought she imagined it, but then Darien rubbed her brow and announced she wasn't feeling very well. When she and Nat exited, everyone's spirits seemed to wilt and wane. As Ro and Zee left, with Bucky behind them, Ro observed the others in the restaurant, her stomach weaving in and out of nausea. Every table she passed sombre faces sat, unmoving lips, limited gestures. Spooked, Ro took hold of Zee's hand and would not let go of it until returned to her motel room. Arlene, the chatelaine, had been in to turn down the corner of the bed and lay out fresh lavender adorned with three daisies. The petals cheered Ro significantly.

'That was—weird,' Bucky eventually said, sitting at the only chair by the small circular table. 'What just happened?' He looked at Ro. 'You felt it. I know you did.'

'I did feel lit. Like something in the air just changed. Something—something bad.'

'Malevolent,' Bucky added. 'Evil. I feel better now. But it's just like, for those ten minutes, the planets and stars aligned just right, just enough, so that malignancy was born into the world. I've never felt like that before.'

Zee listened intently, worried for his two friends. While he could feel the elements much stronger than he ever had in his life, he could not feel this particular brush of evil. 'I noticed the change in the persons around us, but I noticed no change in the atmosphere.'

Ro pulled off her sandals as she spoke. 'When I went into the bathroom with Colette and Alexia—I thought I saw something in the mirror. I don't know what it was. A mist, kind of. But it had eyes—kind of. It was all white, pure, pure white, like light. And its eyes were red marks, endless red marks, notched or sewn—but something was wrong with them. I knew whatever it was, it was watching me—but I also knew it was blind. It _saw_ me, though—and I saw it. . .'

For a while no one said anything. Then, abruptly, Bucky was on his feet. A sympathetic pat was left on Ro's knee. 'I think I'd better go find a place to sleep.'

Ro told him, 'You can have Zee's room. He never sleeps on the bed.'

'You don't mind?' Bucky questioned Zee. The synthoid shook his head, expression altered slightly from innocent to slightly bewildered. Bucky, too tired to be told twice, slid between the rooms, mumbling his goodnights and another happy birthday to Ro. He'd gone when Zee took a languid seat on the bed, next to Ro.

'You didn't feel anything, did you?' she asked, wiggling on her stomach so that her head and shoulders were beside him. 'I can tell you didn't.'

'Not being human, I might've been immune to whatever phenomenon occurred. Perhaps an extra surge in electromagnetic energy. It's said to make people act sluggish and torpid. My sensors certainly would have informed me if an odd rise of EMF happened—and I'm afraid I received no such reading. Do you feel better now?'

'Yeah. Still a little scared of what I saw in the mirror. Suppose we should tell Dr Smart? He's the parapsychologist.'

'It ought to be considered, sure.' He waited, regarding Ro, she regarding him, and wondered if she would sense the question before he asked.

Ro sighed and put her chin against her wrists. 'You've been dying to ask me all day, so go ahead. I know you want to.'

He was relieved she brought up the subject, because he wouldn't have dared. 'Have you given any further consideration to staying here indefinitely?'

Although knowing she'd be asked, and given hours to think about it, Ro let the potential finality of her answer emphasise the decision dramatically. She turned a shoulder, then her hips, and was on her back, a lean hand beneath a head of wild hair. She knew Zee watched her in that yawning intensity of his.

'I've thought about it. All day—I've thought about it. Assuming we can avoid any more EMP—'

'EMF,' Zee corrected.

'Whatever readings, and assuming that Dr Smart isn't lying to us—although it'll be too late by the time we find out he is . . . then I think we should stay. Only for a month or so, though, all right? If we don't hear anything from Andrea Donoso by the first of June, we're so out of here.'

'That is a very good decision.'

'Come on, Zee, you knew I'd eventually say yes.'

'No,' he lifted his brow and gave a slight shake of his head, emoting, 'no, I had no idea what you'd choose. You're an unpredictable dryad, Ro, in this place perhaps more than any other. One can believe in dryads in a place like this.'

Ro wasn't sure. A chill crossed her shoulders, wondering again at the oddity in the mirror. She'd seen plenty of anomalies since befriending Zee and wandering the country, but none that bordered spooky. 'It's nice having friends. It was weird celebrating my birthday with seven other people we didn't know two days ago but that I felt like I've known for years. Hey,' she threw him an accusing look, with no sign of a tease in it, 'you never got me a present.'

'I know,' he frowned slightly. 'I'll work on that.'

'It's okay. You did get that new holographic emitter installed. And I guess it works pretty well. I've seen you touching things all day, and smiling into the wind.' Experimenting, Ro used her forefinger to poke Zee in the arm, near the shoulder, and the exterior held the facility of plain old cotton cloth, the illusion of his shirt, until reaching a further illusion of flesh and muscle beneath. Ro dropped her hand, impressed by this new witchery. In a sudden flash of inspiration, Ro darted from her lounge and turned off the glary light above the table. The room was eaten by darkness.

'Whoa, cool!' exclaimed Ro, seeing only Zee's darkness in the black. 'Usually you glow. Really, really glow. Like moonlight behind and eclipse. But not anymore.' She returned to him, using her memory of the room as a guide, and found his shoulder beneath her hand. He stayed motionless. 'And that's another thing. For the past couple of days you've been avoiding me like I've got the bubonic plague or something.'

Zee's head dipped down. 'Bucky told me you'd noticed.'

'Well, he's very perceptive.'

'He said the same of you.'

'That's flattering and kind of creepy. So why have you been avoiding me?'

'I wasn't avoiding you, Ro. Just avoiding _touching_ you.'

'Because I have the plague.'

'No. I wouldn't get the plague even if you did have it.'

'At first, you know, I wasn't going to ask you about it. I figured it was some other thing you were fighting through. But then, stupid me, I started taking it personally. I thought it might be me, that there was something wrong with me. You've touched me a thousand times since we've known each other, and twenty or so in just the last week, all on your own. But you won't let _me_ touch _you_. Why, then? Why are you doing this, and why am I paranoid about it?'

Never in his life was he more glad for the dark. He could see her perfectly, standing directly in front of him, authoritative, remarkable, resplendent in the dim. Try as she might, she was unable to see his features so clearly. He knew why humans favoured the dark and worshipped the night. It hid complexity beneath its own feazed wings, allowing uncommon passions to fly away unfettered till morning.

'Why?' Ro persisted, knowing the answer hid in him, bidden and welcome. 'Tell me.'

At the last syllable, Zee bound to his feet, in the small space between the edge of the bed and Ro. He told himself he could do this, he could say this—he could do this. He kept telling himself that.

'Because I want to know you, Ro.'

Ro didn't know whether to growl or snicker. She settled for neither. 'I don't get it. You _do_ know me.'

'In mind and spirit, yes, I do know you. But there's more to you. The parts of you that I will never be—that I'm unable to be.' He barely had to move for his fingers to grasp her wrist, his hand moving up her forearm, across her collarbone, and lightly down between her breasts, halting over her heart, until he separated from her.

Ro's mind moved rapidly, absorbingly. Though she begged herself not to step away, Zee couldn't have spoken plainer if he'd used actual words. 'I see . . . And Bucky told you I was uncomfortable with this.'

'He said I should ask you about it, tell you. It might make me feel better.'

'Better,' she repeated, a light-headedness coming upon her from the quick, painful pounding of blood through her ears. 'Are you jealous?'

He nodded, as though she saw it in the dark. 'Yes. Of everything on this earth that touches you, from the wind to rain and all the dust between you and me right now.'

A slithering trill ignited deep in the centre of her. She threw her hands behind her, to keep them from shaking, and put all her strength into keeping her knees from buckling. In the weight of a second, options and consequences observed, Ro inched a bare foot forward. With less dust between them, there was now less jealousy. The thrill of touching Ro brought forth all the light and colours of the world. He held her gingerly at the soft curve of her hips. Ro leaned into him, melding his light with her energy. His friend's breath tickled his neck, his chin, slipping against his lips.

'What happens now?' he asked quietly, his mouth brushing hers.

'I don't know,' Ro said, adding an uncertain huff of laughter. 'I don't know. I'm not really experienced in this. Let alone . . . you know . . . with you.'

'If you'd rather—'

'I don't want to be anywhere else. Ever again. I think we'd better just trust our instincts. I'll trust mine. You trust yours.'

'Absolutely not. I will, however, trust yours. I just want to be inside—'

Ro ate his words, pushing against him with her willing body. Responsive to her warmth and his newfound tactility, he thought that, just maybe, instinct was as much a part of him as Ro.

He had no idea where to go or what to do. The light had gone out of the room, but light had become every particle between them. Ro lingered around him as immaterial divinity; she was no longer flesh and bone.

'You are the lamp of a thousand careless stars.'

The words were lost in a nape of warmth and a tendril of hair. She heard only the whispers of desire. The thin barrier between sex and modesty slipped from her shoulders and was lost to the terribly alone ground. Ro noticed it leaving her, the wall reduced to a bundle of cloth, and knew sorrow for the darkness. She returned to her illuminated god. His hands reached for and found tucked away, unseen places. Chasms and mountains flattened to quivering plains of heat and scent against him. He tasted the world.

'No wind has my envy tonight.'

She smiled as she held him, her own contented element conforming to an unfamiliar shape. 'Envy me instead. Outside and inside. Envy me.'

A restless moan answered unfinished thoughts of envy. The fiery being beneath him shone with all the colourful emblems of wonder and elation. He was half fearful of this new Ro, a undiscovered animal, part fairy and part woman. He feared frightening her into the thicket of torture, far from the secure eyries where he longed to lift her. His hand trailed along an outward road, wound about a knee, and found a darkened, interior path to a dusky hollow. Inaudible, unversed pleas came from parted lips on airless breaths. What this little creature craved he would not provide. Ceaseless patience were rewarded by solicits whined and prayers whimpered. A sylph possessed Ro's form and trembled in luxury.

As the last of her breath expelled from her, when she knew her soul suffocated, all returned in a magical flow of life. Moon and sun joined harmoniously, encasing them in delicate radiance. Four winds blew at the corners of their kingdom, and met with the battling mistral gale, impenetrable and gallant. He dove into a being that had thrown aside deteriorating masks and shown him knowledge of lost ages. This discovery of her was filled with earthly visions passing through a fertile imagination. He knew her as a garden of roses, honey, peaches, all touched by the clear drops of heaven's sweetest dew.

He lifted from the maze of her nectar, the mystery savoured after revelation. She meant meaningful poems to him before, but now she was the meaning behind all. Her mouth was found again, so she might share his wisdom. 'You are the meaning of light, Ro . . . And I am akin to the winds of the west.'


	15. Lessons From Magic

015 — Lessons From Magic

Bucky had his soul leap out of him and sucked back in. He was up in bed, shirtless and with bad hair, pillow creases on his cheek, wondering what in the hell had just woken him up. He felt awake and ready, but ill-prepared for Zee so early in the morning.

'Zee? Dammit,' he wrestled around for his phone from the night stand, 'it's six in the morning! Is your internal clock working?'

'My internal clock is just fine,' Zee said.

Bucky crumbled, knowing he'd never fall back to sleep, and hopped from bed. He tugged at a pant leg. 'Mr Morning Glory, your fat metal ass is inconveniently on my trousers.'

'Sorry.'

Bucky claimed his jeans and pulled them on. Zee awaited, servile, with Bucky's t-shirt. Bucky analysed his friend's uncharacteristic behaviour.

'Are you all right? Please tell me you're not always this cheerful in the morning. Ro would've severed your head from the rest of your body if you were.' He splashed water on his face in the sink as Zee answered.

'I took your advice. I talked to Ro about it.'

'Oh, no!' Towel in hand, Bucky stomped his way back to Zee. He threw the towel at the synthoid's irritatingly modest pate. 'You _talked to her_! About—about—about—'

'The word you're looking for is sex.'

'DAA!' Bucky screamed. He turned and banged his forehead into the nearest wall. 'No! No! No! This is not happening! This is _not_ happening!' Once again facing Zee, Bucky's pale face tightened. 'You don't mean that you—that you—and her— Please tell me you just spent all night talking, without any demonstrations.'

'It's not the sort of activity that one can talk about for long without actually—'

'Oh my God, shut up!'

'—doing it.'

The door between the rooms stood open, Ro there, having finished Zee's sentence to announce her presence. Bucky was on her in a second.

'Ro—don't make me disown you!'

'You're overreacting.'

Bucky made a frantic gesture as if to suggest the circumstance was worth every ounce of his energy and drama. 'Well, duh! I think I'm a little entitled right now!'

Ro explained to him the best she could. She, up for hours, had talked to Zee about it, what would happen now. And— 'Nothing's changed. Well, that's not really true—something has changed.'

'Yeah!' cried Bucky. 'You're completely _mental_! Oh, I can't _wait_ to tell this to your brother!'

'There's nothing to tell.'

'Beg to differ.'

'Casey wouldn't believe you, anyway.'

Bucky emitted a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so angry, so emotionally riled. For a moment, his back to both Ro and Zee, he thought of the wisdom his uncle had taught him, of all the things he'd learned of machines in the last three years. Finally, able to face the truth, he returned to them.

'Zee, I'm glad you're learning what it's like to be human. And I'm glad you have someone so humane and beautiful as Ro to teach you. Ro, God am I thankful, beyond words, that you have found something in your life you can believe in. And in the basic principles of humanity, nonetheless.' He counted them off on fingers as they were named. 'Freedom. Loyalty. Love. Happiness. And there's nothing in the world that would ever make me give up my friendship with the two of you—nothing at all. But I'm telling you— No, no—I'm _warning_ you, from the things I've seen, being where I've been all this time—I've seen things—and there are always consequences. You can't love someone or something without bringing some sort of wrong into the world right along with the good of love. No,' he said, pointing at Ro, who had her mouth open for a retort, 'I'm talking right now—and you _will_ listen to me, both of you! Every step we take has a reaction in this world, in ways that we don't even know, can't even fathom, can't even see because we're so inept. And you mark my words, the two of you, that this is going to have repercussions and admonishments so enormous and foul that I hope—I genuinely hope—we still have our heads too far up our asses to see them!'

During the speech, he whipped around the room, collecting into pockets the few personal items he'd brought with him. Then, at last, he held up his phone, dialled a number saved in his directory the night before, said some words neither Ro or Zee really heard, or that Bucky remembered speaking, and hung up. With fists on his hips, Bucky stared them down.

'Nothing's different, isn't that what you said?'

Ro blinked burning tears from her eyes. 'Nothing is different.'

'Bull,' he spat, grabbing his coat forcibly and throwing it on. 'Bull! You want to know what that was that we all felt last night? That madness coming up from the earth? Well, that was it—the start of it—your _punishment_ for playing around with a magic you can't ever understand. Fine! FINE! Deal with it on your own! But I'm out of here. . .'

His hand on the door handle, Bucky lingered for a moment, listening to Ro's sniffles and feeling Zee's uncertainty. Finally, Bucky, angry at himself, strode towards Ro and embraced her tightly. Ro let out a liberal tandem of sobs against his shoulder. Bucky was moved to the point where tears prickled his eyes.

'I'm sorry, Ro.'

'It's okay. I'd be angry, too.' She rubbed in the wet kiss he imprinted on her cheek.

He said nothing to Zee but went back for the door. At the end, just before departing, Bucky deigned to acknowledge Zee. 'Call me when . . . Just call me.'

Zee and Ro were quiet the entirety of the morning. Unable to stand being in the hotel, they went for a long drive, into country landscapes and along roads that were becoming as familiar as friends. Zee stopped at a county park, the two of them walking in silence for thirty minutes, till they came to a cascade of water over steep rocks into a shallow, fish-filled pool. The trees hummed with activity, birds and insects and squirrels. Ro set her lumbar against the railing of the bridge across the stream, looking at Zee. He looked back at her and saw the eyes still rimmed in red, from exhaustion and sadness.

'You don't think he's right, do you?' Ro wanted to talk about it, wanted Zee's sound, methodical mind to tell her the entire idea was preposterous.

But Zee angled his shoulders across the railing, his elbows against it, his hands clasped. 'I'm not sure.'

'He can't be right.'

He heard the tears in her voice and went to comfort her. At first she resisted, too worried of what it might entail, but gave in, his sheltering arms more comforting than standing alone amid the grasping hands of fear. Zee kissed the top of her head, smoothing her hair. Ro rubbed her runny nose on the back of her wrist.

'What I do know of this world, Ro,' began Zee, careful, as always, of his words, 'is that it contains many unfathomable layers, layers that you and I cannot tap into. I don't know why we can't. There are any number of spiritual and physical reasons why. Is there magic in the world? Of course there is. There must be, otherwise it would be an unbelievably dreary place to reside for ninety or a hundred years. Is there magic in this world that I have rent, broken, or obliterated simply by being here, by existing? I'm sure I don't know. But I'm going to find out.'

It was when he let go of her, and they started walking on, that Ro halted. She let Zee's hand slip from her fingers. She stood still, waiting for it to abate.

'What's wrong? Ro?'

She felt it again. She put a hand over her heart and felt it again. 'It's here.'

'What is?'

Ro lifted her gaze, bleared by tears, and saw it, the streaks of light that made Zee what he was. She saw it in an instant, a blur of whites and blues, with an amethystine cloud rising up from the ground beneath his feet. She blinked again, and it vanished. Zee was just Zee again.

But it was too late to take it back, to act as though yesterday was the same as today. Ro knew it. And, soon, so would Zee.

'I'm scared for you,' Zee said. 'What is here, Ro?'

Such a sickness she had never once known, in her lengthy eighteen years. A wave of nausea and a cold emptiness through her body, reminding her that she was mortal, that she was dust, that she did not belong. . . .

'It's come,' she whispered, ending their ignorance. 'The broken magic has come.'

• º •

Thanks to those that took two minutes out of your lives to let me know you were reading this, and for taking three hours out of your life to read it. My gratitude as always.

There are no story notes. If you have a question, you can send me a private message or an e-mail and I'll happily respond.


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